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 mom, a 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!!!!
