I don't like being 18. I perfer to call it 'Post 17'.
And heres why:
Your aunt thinks she can pass up a crumbled up R100 note straight from her wallet as a present, and your cousin: A packet of tim-tams that he bought to have with some tea, but everybody ignored him when asked if he could open it to eat, so he gave it to me before he left.
Creepy old gay men try to chat you up when you sitting at the bar drinking a coke. (The staff had to hide me in the kitchen until they left. They started chasing the waiter when I left until he started hiding in the kitchen too.)
Everybody expects you to drink 'cos you can, and really, nothing about you actually changes. You don't suddenly gain a couple of feet, or suddenly get facial hair. (Well, I don't.

) Its like being 17 plus all that stuff I just said above. Also, is this still my childhood... I know its not Adulthood yet... teenhood? I dunno.
Oh, and weird drunk guys appear on your doorstep saying 'I'm looking for my car' whilst clutching your garden gnome.
Okay, I lied. Being 18 is hilerious and highly eventful.

But I still don't like the number and I sure as heck don't aim to act my age anytime soon!
But yes, happy birthday for yesterday and uh, Epical tale, brother.