By Geisha Bar

Guys, I’m 25 and let me tell you – it’s a very special age. One where you are old enough to party in style, accompanied by other friends with their financial shit sorted – enough to be able to organise overseas holidays for birthdays and other fun things like that. You could still pass for 21. Gravity hasn’t reared its ugly head in your direction, and things are right where they should be, anatomically speaking. You’re young. You’re hot. The world is your oyster and everyone else is fun as well.

Or are they?

Enter the archnemesis of the fun-loving 25-year-old gal: The new mum who got married at 24, whose only life goal ever was “to be a mummy.” You casually open your phone, still completely munged at midday on a Sunday. A photo of a baby wearing a headband with a flower pops up on your Facebook feed. “Make it stop,” you mumble in disgust (you hate babies and the boring “yummy mummy” culture that surrounds them). Lying on the ground next to the baby is a small Kmart chalkboard, with “25 weeks” written on it. You wonder what the difference is between 25 weeks and 6 months, and whether someone who cannot round weeks into months should even be breeding. Your hand twitches. You want to type a comment telling them that 25 weeks is actually 6 months, and also everyone’s getting real fucking sick of seeing weekly photos of their hideous baby wearing doilies and shit, lying next to a chalkboard.

You refrain though, because they used to be a real person with their own personality, and maybe one day they will be again. But the damage is already done. Your day has been ruined, because some jerk out there has just reminded you of the ever forward-marching phenomenon that is Time, and with this realisation comes a new one: statistically speaking, most of your girlfriends are going to crumble to this baby lifestyle. Like fallen soldiers, one by one, you are going to lose your fun party-loving friends. Unless you join the fray, you will have nothing in common with these people anymore. It seems that you are coming to a divide in your life – those who have kids, and those who do not want kids. You are of the latter, and your friends in the former category will start becoming excited with baby bowel movements, while you will be increasingly excited about career and travel, and the financial security that comes with not having to pay for somebody’s upbringing. The only solution? Aggressively befriend the fabulously childless sector of the gay community, I say. Party on, minions.

Love, Akika xoxoxoxooxoxoxoxo