❦A.Moment.In.My.thoughts❦

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Dan Dillinger - There They GO - Feat Reno Bang & M.O.C.S

Throughout the youthful time of my twenties, I recurrently abhorred being asked for my identification when buying the liquid that sends one into the abyss of slurred words and imaginative sightseeing. The notion that I looked under age was incredulous, when I, gazed upon my reflection in the mirror, smile lines progressively forming caverns and crevices adjacent to my claret lips, crow’s feet leisurely skulking towards my Amazonian eyes. I knew I was not under age and could not comprehend why anyone would unmistakably guesstimate my age to be that of a betwixt and empty headed teenager. I reminisce my first day of teaching at a high school. I was apprehensive and yet, a composed new employee in the last year of my university degree. I felt as tall as the skyscrapers although conversely anxious as one would assume to be. I anticipated to be given a somewhat atrocious time, and had projected ideals of receiving an ass whooping that one may perceive. What I did not foresee, was under banter of protest, to be sent to the principal’s office for not being in my uniform. I proclaimed! I beseeched! I tried my best to enlighten the staff that I in actual fact was a staff member myself, and not an oversexed, well developed, rampant silly teenage girl. It required the principal to formerly introduce me to the rest of the faculty, not withstanding that I was old enough to be at the head of the class with a degree.  It has been suggested by many people that I should acknowledge this as a compliment, but it got rather tiresome having to proclaim my age to every monochromatic and tunnel visioned being. I recall a moment during my twenties, I was accused of having a counterfeit drivers licence by a woman in her late fifties, somewhat representative of a save-your-sole preachers wife in a top that was the colour of a baby’s nappy deposit. She stood behind her counter not unlike a troll projecting a representation of a modern version of a nightmare. Are these people crazy? I thought to myself, how they could not see, that I was more mature then most of them.

Now as I draw closer to last stage of my roaring and sometimes invincible twenties, the final twelve months till I begin a new decade in my thirties, only forty one days till I turn a ripened age of twenty nine. I must ask myself will I feel such anger if in my thirties I should be once again referred to as a teenager....it could be that the older I become the less anxious and primeval I would feel about this. I doubt that it would have a negative effect when I reach my forties and I think I should and would be grateful for any acknowledgement that I looked younger than my years.

You may be pondering why I am telling you this story, for today I was asked for my identification at a social establishment with my family, I asked the woman how old she thought I might be, her reply - “you only look seventeen”. I could not help but smile and express thanks, as this was the first time I acknowledge it as a compliment and so grateful my crows feet and growing wrinkly bits did not stand out like an oversized pimple on the nose. I now feel more comfortable with any compliments I may receive on looking like a teenager or a mature woman in her early twenties.