I turned eighteen last Wednesday. I sat on my bed as the clock changed from 11:59 to 12:00 holding my teddy bears and baby blanket and feeling rather morose.

I am not ready to be a grown up.

I had a great birthday though, many thanks to my amazing friends Valentina, Fiona, Amy, Afifa, May, and Jewel. They surprised me with cake and ice cream. And, as everyone knows, the quickest way to a girl’s heart is through cake. Remember that now.

Anyway. Now I’m an adult. I can’t do much though. I can vote, should the opportunity present itself. But that’s about it. I can’t drink (I don’t drink so this isn’t an issue) and I can’t own a credit card or cell phone. So really what’s the point of being called an adult when really you’re just a child?

My brother put it nicely: “You have to have one year in your life when you can’t vote drunk.”

I think he’s probably right. That’s why they did it. Maybe if they let people drink, adolescent voter turnout would be higher.

Just a thought.