In my first week off, I finally turned 21.

This was a great achievement, especially when you consider the number of times people threatened I wouldn’t even reach the milestone if I kept going on about it.

But January 17, at exactly midnight, I danced around my house with my best friend, sister and boyfriend, shouting ‘I’m 21!’

Conveniently for them, my housemates were not present.

This was followed by some mature, 21-year-old jumping on the bed to the song ‘I’m Too Sexy’ by Right Said Fred.

Oh, to be young again.

My birthday was a pretty awesome event. I spent the day with friends, having lunch and talking lots and opening presents.

I spent the evening with my family, and my other family – the Ace Gang with whom I play board games every week and who all should feel special they’re regarded as family – having tea and talking lots and opening presents.

Presents, it seems, make up a big part of turning 21.

At my party, guests gave me so many that it is hard now to pick a favourite. The least favourite is an easy-pick, though.

That best friend, who jumped on my bed with me and had lunch and tea with me on my birthday, revealed her true evil side with her gift.

Some of you might recall a column I once wrote, stating how much I hate vouchers.

This clever, insightful friend decided to give me 10 Coles-Myer gift cards. How very witty.

She made it even more hilarious by individually wrapping each gift card with an almost-equally useless present – for example, an empty Panadol box.

Luckily she is not my only friend – I’m not choosy – and so I also received an abundance of earrings, books and even a can or two of Coke Zero.

While the Coke Zero was easily put away, the other gifts have found their new homes slowly. Some have even taken up temporary residence on my lounge room floor while I try to find space in what now feels like a very small house.