Publications
Partners
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 of 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)
Visit Anja's blog and follow her on Twitter.
Follow Women24 on Twitter or like us on Facebook.
