One of my mom’s home health nurses came by today. I was asleep while she was here.1 Anyway, she asked my mom why I wasn’t at school. I had to keep from laughing or screaming or doing anything that would require me to move and embarrass both of us. My mom told her no. The nurse asked if I was starting back soon, and mom told her that I don’t go to school anymore. The nurse was surprised.
She thought I was in high school.
Mom told her that I’m 30.
She was shocked.
Now, I know that I look younger than my age. I’m aware of this. I know that when I was 21, I was told that I looked 13. I know that I couldn’t buy Cruel Intentions on DVD because a Walmart cashier didn’t think I was in my 20s and wouldn’t take my word for it.2 I encounter people who think that if my dad is with me that he’s either my dad or a guy who is into teenagers or barely legal girls.
It should be flattering, but it can also be really tiring. It’s also one of those things that makes me more self-conscious. I never know who is going to say something about it. I never know if I’ll be offended by their assumption or how embarrassed one or both of us will be. I just always know that it’s possible, and that’s really frustrating.
I almost wish I had a tattoo that said, “No, I’m not a little kid or a teenager. As far as know, my father, aka the man standing next to me, isn’t into people under the age of consent. Yes, I was really born in 1984. No, I’m not a time traveler.” Of course, in order to get a tattoo, I would have to prove that I’m over 18.3 And they would probably think my ID was fake. Maybe I should just wish I had a t-shirt with that on it. Or multiple t-shirts, since it happens so often.
And I wonder sometimes if it factors into my trying to date. I look younger than I am, I don’t drive, I don’t drink, I’ve never smoked or done drugs, I have a high-pitched voice that’s also very soft, I’m into cutesy stuff, and I’ve never had sex. I could see how these things might make me seem like I’m younger than 30.
But I am 30.
I’m not a teenager. I’m not a person in their early twenties. I’m a thirty year old woman. Admittedly, I’m a 30 year old woman who regularly wears her hair in pigtails4 and who is typing this entry while wearing a Looney Tunes shirt, while sitting next to a Hello Kitty bag.
I promise I’m 30.
I swear I’m 30.
Please don’t accuse me of lying about my age. Who would lie about being thirty, except for maybe people who are over 30?
Anyway, I guess this is just one of those weird, pointless rants that I occasionally have to make.
Not really. Amy’s barking woke me up. ↩
I didn’t have my ID that day. My dad ended up buying it for me. ↩
Or 19, since this is Alabama. ↩
I might as well take advantage of the appearance thing. ↩
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