Let me tell you some truths about getting older. I don't mean old; I mean older. Like just about to turn thirty.
Your metabolism will slow down. Not drinking just for one weekend won't make you skinny again. Neither will not sugaring your tea for a week. And one week of regular exercise won't make a damn difference to your bum; it'll merely make the shelf beneath it support it a little better.
There'll be mornings where you wake up and your back will hurt so much you can't get out of bed without assistance, and you won't really know why. You''ll have to stay in bed all day, and instead of enjoying it, you'll think about when you'll be on your deathbed and you'll be looking back on your life, and you'll think of days when you were stuck in bed, bored, lonely, and irritable, and you'll lament the time you wasted.
You might decide you want kids, because you think you've had enough hangovers to be able to say no for a year. So you go off the pill, and you think you're just going to go back to what you were like before it. You forget that your hormones have been manipulated for years, so it will come as a huge surprise when your boobs start to hurt, and then they just keep hurting. It'll take you a few days to realise why the biggest and reddest pimple in recent memory has taken up residence on your face, and not somewhere subtle like in your eyebrow, or somewhere where you can put black eyeliner on it and make it look like a beauty spot, like near your mouth, or even on your forehead where you could cover it by cutting a fringe. It'll be right beside your nose, where there's nowhere to hide. And you won't have the excuse of age, because you'll be waaaay past adolescence.
You'll start to become really involved in tv shows you were making fun of people for watching only a year or two ago. You won't know about new music until at least a month after it's been out. You'll find you've been wearing the same three pairs of shoes for the last two weeks, and that two of them were chosen for comfort. You'll need to wear merino underneath everything because you'll feel the cold. You'll be complimented more and more on your clothes by people older than you, and less and less by people your age or younger.
You'll be hungover after a couple of drinks, and severely hungover after just a few more than a couple. Severely hungover won't mean throwing up several times during breakfast at a cafe. It'll mean being bedridden, and still foggy the next day.
Sex will mostly be reserved for bedtime. That'll probably be a good thing, because everybody's eyes will be too tired to notice that your legs are almost as hairy as your head. Also, you'll be so concerned about your dog's well-being that you'll want to wait until he's fast asleep so he doesn't grow up scared, and then you'll check on him afterwards anyway, because you'll worry about stuff like that. You'll worry roughly ten times more than you did five years ago, and, surprisingly, your worries won't be any saner than they used to be. Sometimes you may even lie awake worrying about things you've dreamt, and then when morning comes you realise the whole scenario was completely ridiculous.
I'll save the rest for another day, and leave you with a song from my youth. I used to dance to this in heels and a micro mini (that's what they were called when I was young), and I liked the video, whereas now it makes me shake my head/fist at this awful, patriarchal world, and I can't fit micro minis, and I haven't worn heels in several months (if I have, I don't remember; another charming side-effect of ageing).
But it's not all bad. According to Tony S., shit flows downhill, money flows uphill. Just have to find that hill...