Tuesday, May 22, 2012


At work yesterday, I worked at a different desk than I usually do, and so I sat near people I don't talk to on a regular basis. One of these people, Veronica, is someone whose age I've always wondered about (because I thought we were about the same age).

When the two older-than-us women discussed the death of Robin Gibb, and the glory days of the BeeGees, Veronica and I were at somewhat of a loss, so I had the chance to ask when she was born.

"1984," she said. Wow. I realized how old I really am, in that moment. Three decades. I wasn't alive when the BeeGees were big, so I kind of reeled in my newfound "old" status, even if it was only a few years older than this baby, this child (obviously).

And that is when she asked my age. When I told her "31," she said no way, she didnt believe it. She thought I was in my early- to mid-20s. Ahh...

I think finally, after years of hating the fact that I look younger than I am, I've come to appreciate it, and enjoy it. Truth be told, I think my favorite part about it is taking people off-guard, throwing them for a loop.

Either way, I'll take it. We all have crosses to bear, right?

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