Wait, how old do you think I am?

It finally happened.

The day I’ve been waiting for since before forever finally arrived! The day I’d been told would eventually get here, came and it was just as glorious as everyone said it would be! It finally fantastically happened!

Someone thought I was 10 years younger than I currently am, and it was finally a compliment!

HOLLA!

I am one of those people who’s been haunted by a baby face since way past my toddler years. I’ve been carded for every single lottery ticket, bottle of alcohol and R-rated movie that I have ever attempted to purchase or attend. And I’ve been repeatedly judged as inexperienced by people who assumed I was a decade younger than whatever age I currently was at any given time.

And it has always been inconvenient at best and humiliating at worst.

The most traumatic of such experiences happened the summer before my freshman year of college. With a smile full of braces, I admit I didn’t exactly look like an adult, but at 17, I figured I could at least pull off “teenager.”

Alas, someone genuinely asked me, and I quote, “So, what junior high are you going to be attending in the fall?”

I cried. For real. Tears. Everything. It was horrible.

At 17 years old, the very last thing you want in the world is to be mistaken for12. It’s right there on the list with “being told you have to be home by 10 p.m.” or “having to put gas in your dad’s car when you borrow it.” Gawd. Right?

Anyway, ya, it didn’t get better with age. Being mistaken for an intern while working full-time hurts your credibility, being hit on by 21 year old when you’re 27 is creepy, and having people ask you where the youth group leader is when you are the youth group leader is embarrassing.

Everyone always told me, though ,that one day, I would like being mistaken for younger than I really was. That I would get excited when they carded me to buy a glass of wine and that I would smile when someone asked to see my ID.

I honestly just figured that with my luck, by the time I got to that magical age, I would somehow actually look older than I really was and the whole vicious cycle would continue.

Thank. You. Lord. That didn’t happen!

There I was entering a random contest at this random booth at a random conference last week, and as I was filling out the entry form, the dude was all, “Wait. Are you 18? Because you have to be over 18 to enter.”

He was dead serious.

And then I was, “Huh? Shut. Up.” And then I flirting-ly punched his shoulder and giggled.

“You are too kind.”

And he was all, “Umm, oh. How old are you?”

And I was all, “28. he he. giggle giggle”

That’s when I realized the day I had been dreaming about since I was 17 years old had finally arrived.

And it really was fabulous as everyone said it would be.

Now excuse while I go back to the car to get my licence so I can watch Act of Valor.

 

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