Ahhhh…nothing like the sound of the door slamming as Eric leaves and with that slam comes the knowledge that for the next 6 hours I will be alone in the quiet to work and edit all by myself and I love that. One week from today I will be crying as my children get on the bus knowing that it will be the last time for two months that I will hear the happy rumble of the school bus whisking my beloveds away for hours on end.
Did I tell you about the other day? This isn’t a huge story..not even that worth typing about but when it happened I thought that maybe it could be something I would share with you all so rather than sit here with a glazed look in my eye staring at my coffee mug trying to think of something to write, I figured I would share it with you.
So, I think I have mentioned before that I mentally stopped aging right around 28 or so. When I think about how old I am I think..28… not a day older than 28. Sometimes, if I drank too much Skinnygirl the night before, I think I am not a day over 19 because how can I be middle aged and STILL not understand what will happen if I drink a gallon of Skinnygirl and not eat dinner and then go to bed, the only answer to that particular question would be that I am 19 and still have yet to figure out the nuances of inebriation and how to do it gracefully and with just a LITTLE bit of class. But, for the most part, I really think inside my brain that 28 is where I am. I believe I should do my hair like that of a 28 year old and shop in the juniors department of Marshall’s. I feel that anyone looking at me wouldn’t even DREAM of thinking that I am a day over 28 because I AM 28 so why would they even conjure up a number higher than 28 when looking at me and trying to come up with an age? That would just be silly.
28. Just ask my best girl, Laura who technically IS 28. I am pretty sure that she is older than me. I am certain of it in fact.
Except I am NOT 28. I am 35. Thirty frigging FIVE and people who look at me probably know that. With just a glance the people who look in my direction are probably thinking..“Wow, look at the middle aged 35 year old lady who is wearing an outfit appropriate for a 28 year old..”
So, the other day when I stopped into a liquor store to grab a bottle of wine to bring to my girlfriend’s house the very nice lady at the counter asked for my ID.
I batted my eyes, gave her a slight, just the slightest, nod that indicated that I understood. I got it. She has a job to do and honestly, when someone looks young, she has no choice but to ask. I wasn’t offended like I would have been back when I was, oh..21. No. I was on her side and it was completely understandable.
ID?” I said…”You would like to see my ID? Why..yes..just one second…I understand the need as I have just done my hair and make up and even though I TYPICALLY look 28, I can see where you might have mistaken me for a 20 year old. It must be the self tanner…hold one just one minute as I get it out of my very trendy pocketbook that only young girls carry, for you, you dear kind lady…”
I reached into my wallet to retrieve the proper documentation that the lovely, almost angelic, like lady that works in one of the shadier packys on the way to the highway needed in order to sell me my wine and handed it over. I wasn’t in a rush..I was enjoying the moment, I took just a TINY bit longer than necessary to slide it in her direction. There were people behind me who needed to know how young I was, dammit. Young enough to be CARDED, clearly.
The woman took it, glanced at it and back up at me. I was all ready with my eye contact and the small shrug of my shoulders that was meant to indicate..“I KNOW! Can you believe it! You would think I was 28 AT MOST!! Ha! Look at that…it is unbelievable, really…but I get it..you had to ask for it…”
“Oh. 1977. Huh. You look good…for your age….”
A quick smirky smile with a knowing eye roll/shoulder shrug later and then I realized what I had just heard and my ID required ego inflated balloon began to deflate. Because at first..it sounded like a nice thing to say. And then the gravity of what it actually meant began to set in and it was like all traces of botox and self tanner washed away and I was left standing there in a house coat and slippers with curlers in my hair and a walker to prop me up and I wanted to cry.
WHEN did that HAPPEN??? When did “You look good.” change to “You look good for your age.” Because it did. And I can’t understand it because I am 28 and when you are 28 you are supposed to just LOOK GOOD.
I know that she was trying, in her limited way, to be nice, but WHY did she have to add the FOR YOUR AGE part onto that sentence? She could have stopped right at “you look good”. Even if she didn’t mean it, she could have just said it and allowed me to glide out of that store riding high on my cloud of age delusion. Instead I am now all too aware that from this point on, because I am not getting younger..it just doesn’t happen despite my best botox efforts, it is going to be “…for your age”.
Maybe I will go get a manicure and have some nail art applied to just my ring finger nails. That might make me feel young and better. Or perhaps I will just go ahead and book a face lift for the fall as a birthday present to myself.
I am going to count on baby Eleanor to cheer me up. Little Ellie came to visit me at the studio because she thought a shoot would be a nice way to celebrate being 8 weeks old. I completely agreed.
Isn’t she just PERFECTION. She looks pretty good for her age, don’t you think?
I love me a hairy baby.
I also love a pirate baby.
Can’t even stand her.
Thank you guys! Ellie..you are awesome.