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Yes I’m “That Old,” Where’s My Cookie?
Posted by Bethaney - Tagged , , , ,
Yes I’m “That Old,” Where’s My Cookie?

Someone once told me that being 28 is the worst age they’d ever been. That it was young enough no one took them seriously, but old enough to still sound old. And now that I’ve been every age to the one I am now, which is, you guessed it, 28, I’m going to have to agree. My number of years old is terrible. Why? Because it’s right in the middle of everything – where I’m not yet experienced enough to gain respect for being alive, nor am I young enough to be given newb treatment.

Things are expected of me, and the ability to give advice is not one of them. That’s still beyond my years … not that should be confused with responsibilities. Which are coming in hot.

People who are younger than me think I’m reaching dino status. And those older wonder why I don’t have four kids … or haven’t been married for 10 years. (Or at least two times.)

I am in the absolute in-between of everything.

I have done a certain number of things – some of which took multiple years, what up, college? – it seems that, as I’m not a prodigy, timelines would age me. Even those who have read my resume will ask how many times I’ve rounded the sun with my ripe young voice. Yet people are surprised when I talk about my days on this earth; there are just so damn many of them.stock-photo-funny-cartoon-of-a-crotchety-old-woman-looking-sideways-62010205-copy2

When talking to someone younger than me, they, too are shocked at my old-lady-ness. Thwarted by my lack of orthopedic shoes, they’ll say, “Oh. You don’t look that old.”

Which, BTW is just a way of pointing out that you think my years are Guinness worthy, or that my face doesn’t match my birth certificate. Or that I act way immature.

It’s anything but a compliment.

Even worse when followed by, “You’ll be thankful one day.”

Nope, I won’t be. Don’t try and Inception me … with what is actually a two-layer jab. One, by assuming that all my years will catch up with me at once, like I’m going through a one-way aging spell. Where I’m a wrist flick away from blue curls and neck folds. And two, pointing out how vain future me is going to become.

“Before long you’re going to wish you could shed these past 12 years. I can already tell you’re going to look terrible.”

“And since you’re obviously going to care what everyone things, especially me, go ahead and pocket this compliment until then. It’ll have to tide you over. Seriously you’re going to look disgusting.”

Thanks, public. You really know how to help a girl feel great. And when I say “girl” I mean old-ass woman who wrinkles by the second. Not that she knows what she’s talking about, that’d be crazy.

 

 

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