I don’t want to be a head teacher any longer. I want to shave symbols on my head, join a street crew and do some fast formation dancing, and eventually try out for Britain’s Got Talent. But my wife won’t let me. Why is she such a cow?
Sorry to break it to you, but it turns out that being a grown up is miserable and rubbish. By the time you’re old enough to be allowed on the big roller coaster and watch 18 certificate films and sleep on the top bunk, you’re too busy having to do rubbish stuff, like the ironing, and spending all your free time in John Lewis deciding which pillow cases go best with the new wallpaper. Even when you have a break from work and comparing multipacks of toilet roll in Asda, you still can’t have fun because you have to invite people who annoy you over to dinner, drink loads of wine and get into pointless arguments about politics, then puke everywhere and have to clean it up AND do the washing up after. Then you need to get to Asda again because you’ve run low on toilet paper and also you need to check if they sell pillowcases to replace the one you vomited on.
Instead of doing all that pointless adult stuff and spending all your money on electricity and shower gel, why not treat yourself to a blue raspberry Slush Puppie and a quarter of Kola Kubes, and play Buckaroo or Kerplunk!
Hope that helps!