Wednesday, January 25, 2006

What’s My Age Again?

Was Blink 182 traveling on business trips when they wrote this song? Or were they getting tattoos and piercings? Well, either way, Megan was a huge fan of this number, and it leads me to my big question of this late evening: Why do I continue to tell people that I’m 25 when asked “how old are you?” in any work environment? Does this extra 9 and a half months make me more legit? Does the big two-five make mean that now I’ve graduated into adulthood? Those 23 and 24 year old young professionals living the crazy life don’t know about responsibility – paying the bills, feeding the kids. Honestly, I get the same reaction every single time – surprised look, asking really? To which I turn slightly red, do an awkward 4-5 abbreviated nods, and contemplate asking how ancient they are. Instead I break the more awkward silence and inquire, “Why, hold old did you think I was?” And the answer is always the same, so always as unsurprising, yet just as confounding – “25, 26 or so.” Then why do you look so astonished!?! So, now the real question: Why do I lie? If I said 24, I’d get the same thing. So why do I put myself in the position to get caught? I’ve asked myself this before, but now that I’ve written it down, it really makes no sense. Okay, I’ll stop. Though, if Kiran asks me if I have Missy Elliot’s first CD, I’ll continue saying I bought it and lost it. (Pointless inside joke since he doesn’t even know I have this blog. I haven’t told him since he’s been living on a tropical island for the past 2 years so wouldn’t be as impressed with my pictures of beaches. Talk about doing med school right!) If you work with me, then here it goes: I’m 24. If you’ve never asked, thanks, and now you know the truth. If you have, you shouldn’t be reading this. Back to the rant…

The real real questions are why do these people feel comfortable asking me that and why don’t I ask them right back? I guess the new response could be, “Not old enough to be asking you your age.” Or maybe, “Old enough not to be your son… unless of course you had some crazy high school years.” This would preempt the even worse, but thankfully very rare response to the question I haven’t asked, “I’m old enough to be your mother.” No, men don’t answer that. But yes, they do ask the question about 1/3 as often. Their response: The closed-mouth half-smile/smirk abbreviated-nod that says, “I remember that age. Life was good.” Then I open my computer and show them pictures of Rio, cornrows and co-ed flip cup.

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