A simple trip to Wal-Mart in a Northern Michigan town last weekend for provisions for Little Bee turned in to a philosophical debate in my head. When is the exact moment where we stop wanting to be older and start wanting to look younger? I spent much of my childhood wanting to move to the next phase…ride a bike, drive a car, have a boyfriend, have a beer, have a job, own a house. You get it.
One year while attending my Dad’s work Christmas party he shared with me a few co-workers thought I was eighteen years old. I was 12. Exciting news at the time. Now I’m pretty certain I would not have the same reaction if someone assumed I was six years older than I was and had the desire to let it slip within earshot. Dangerous waters, people.
Where I come from it used to be you needed to look 21 years of age or you would get carded. Then if you looked under 30 years you would be asked for identification. Now just to be sure if you appear south of 40 years of age, you will be asked for ID.
Then here’s to getting carded! The young man working the register said to me ” Can I see your ID, you don’t look 40 just yet.” Gulp. “Well I am!” I said and chuckled. Thank goodness I fooled him! At this point I expect to be practically on the same par with a creature from the Mesozoic era to anyone who is in high school. I know when I was 16 or 17 that was just well…Old.
However, in looking back I have always felt in my prime. The number of candles on the cake has long since been rounded to decades or just a random amount but in all honesty it still feels like the best is not yet behind me. Not by a long shot. And when it’s broken down like that, it feels good to be right where I am, fooling the check-out boy at Wal-Mart.
Yet again, the joke could totally be on me. Maybe he says that to all the ladies.