Friday, August 13, 2010

Old at 27

I'm having a real hard time with this birthday.  It's just sitting there, looming at the end of the weekend like a storm cloud.  Wait, scratch that.  I'm going to American Players Theatre that evening so all storm clouds need to stay far, far away!!

Where was I?  Oh yes, the birthday and how it's got my undies all in a twist.  See here's the thing.  For as long as I can remember, I have been described as being "older than my years."  As a teenager, I tended to gravitate toward friends who were 2-3 years older than me, even choosing to date boys who were two classes above me (including the guy who would become my husband).  At the time, I loved being considered "mature" or "older."  What young woman wouldn't love that?

When I was 24 years old, a guy at work (age 21-ish) guessed my age at 30.  Ouch.

This is not out of the norm.  When people take a stab at how old I am, the number is usually about three or more years above my real age. 

Lately, I have heard many different people use the following terms to describe me - mature, soccer moma sixty-five year old woman trapped in a young chick's body, old.  Old.  Am I really old beyond my time?

I suppose it makes sense.  Married for six years, college degree, two kids, desire to own a minivan, rheumatoid arthritis.  Yup, add all that up and none of it says "young."  Where I take issue is that there seems to be a certain stigma attached to all this.  I have no problem rolling my eyes at all the young men I work with who go out drinking 5 nights a week.  Doesn't interest me in the least.  It's easy for me to get on my soap box about budgeting, couponing, and being frugal and the next thing I know, the poor busser is getting an earful from me when all he wanted to do was share his excitement over buying a T-shirt at the Iron Maiden concert.  I despise most rap music because all it does is pump negative energy and hateful words into the brains of its listeners.  My idea of a night out does not involve an $11 martini, a case of Milwaukee's Best, or any illegal substances. 

And this makes me "old." 

Of course, there are many who are insisting to me that it isn't so much that I come off as "old," but it's more about maturity.  The choices I make and the behavior I engage in tend to be those of an adult who, on average, as clocked a few more years.  I guess I'll take that as a good thing and continue to roll my eyes when those young whippersnappers are discussing what's "poppin'" on a Friday night.

Just do me this one small favor.  Please, pretty please.....the next time I stop at the liquor store or order a drink with dinner, for the love of all that is good and holy.....CARD ME!!!!

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