Green Stuff and Grown-ups

  

I think I have officially grown up, as of today.

Strange things happen when you grow up. You stop colouring your hair outlandish colours, and you realize that goth punk is not suitable work attire. You stop mumbling and start speaking clearly.

Grown-up’s smile at people that they don’t even like, because that’s the civil thing to do.

Grown-up’s always announce their name when answering the phone, instead of just saying “Hello”, “Yo” or “’Sup”.

Grown-up’s cross their legs and sit up straight.

I’ve been showing signs of growing up for some time now. I’ve even shown symptoms of growing old.

But today, it finally happened. At the age of 27, I finally grew up.

You see, I have always had a desperate, deep-seated hatred of baby marrows. As a child, I even refused to learn the name of this repulsive vegetable, and only ever called it “green stuff”. It would literally make me gag at a dinner table, and my skin would crawl as I attempted to swallow it. In my mind, baby marrows were something that parents and grown-ups ate, for reasons unknown and unfathomable to me.

In fact, as a child I found it most fitting that my beloved, favourite book, Roald Dahl’s The Big Friendly Giant, had aptly captured a similarly despicable veggie in the form of the BFG’s most reviled food, the abhorrent “Snozzcumber”, which was shaped conspicuously like a marrow, and must have tasted much the same too. BFG had nothing else to eat, but Snozzcumbers, poor chap.

But today, I ate not only one, but a generous portion of mushy baby marrows, the loathsome “green stuff”… and enjoyed it. Savoured it. I think I even went “Mmmm!”.

A moment of silence for my childhood.

Yes.  I’m a grown-up now, for sure.