When I was a kid I used to envy adults. I thought they had the coolest lives with their permed hair and court shoes. I used to promise myself that when I grew up I'd only wear heels, drive a fancy car and eat Froot Loops 24/7.Then I grew up.My dreams of eating Froot Loops were shattered when a bald old dude at Kelloggs decided to pull the plug on it, and I realised that in order to drive a fancy car you have to sell your soul to the devil.I only found out about tax in standard 9, and yet I still didn't realise that it meant that a moerse part of my salary would be taken away to sustain politicians the country.When I got my first paycheck I nearly threw up all over my pumps (turns out courtshoes are kak uncomfortable) when I saw the amount that was deducted for taxes. Then, later that week when I got an envelope from the receptionist, I thought that it was extra money cover the wound the tax deduction had left.It turned out to be a cruel piece of paper that listed my tax deductions. Oh nice hey, throw some salt on my wounds. Thanks.I later found out that it's called a payslip. Huh?I also found out that that little piece of paper lists the amount of days I have freedom, aka leave.Leave was another ball game for me. Coming from Red & Yellow meant that I was used to having fewer and shorter holidays than universities. I thought that I was prepared for the "real world".Hahahahahahaha. I was wrong.I soon found myself getting super jealous and bitchy towards people who had more leave than me.Colleague: I want to go to Thailand for ten days.Me: Die.Then along came Sanlam with their sensible pension and annuity plans.I DON'T WANT TO SPEND MY MONEY ON SENSIBLE THINGS.I WANT TO BUY A BEDAZZLED CAR WITH LEOPARD PRINT CAR SEATS.And so the debit order game started. I don't know why I'm calling it a game, because I always lose. I also found out that if I ever want to buy a bitching car, I have to have a credit record. So I needed to open a clothing account.
To summarise: You need to have debt to buy a car.
Don't even ask me how that works. It still melts my brain.
Growing up is super confusing and I often find myself feeling like a baby in adult clothes.But it's not all bad. Even though the tax man sucks all the happiness from my body like a dementor, I still have some extra tjing tjing to YOLO.So I often buy myself the things I dreamt of as a child. Pink heels, pretty dresses, sweets (they know me by name at Sweets from Heaven) and glitter EVERYTHING.I also bought myself a phone that makes me look super professional even though I use it to take selfies.And have I mentioned that the tax man regurgitates some of your money once a year? Yeah, you can claim some money back. Not a lot, but just enough to stop you from throwing up on SARS' stoep.I'm also fortunate enough to have a job that would make little Anja proud.This whole growing up business is terrifying, yet awesome at the same time.(Until I get my next bill)Follow Women24on Twitter or like us on .
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