So today I went to a new hairdresser my friend Joan recommended.
I don't think I've laughed so hard EVER as I did when this woman was like "how is it that someone as young as you has gray hair?
I was like "how old do you think I am?"
"You can't be any older than 20!"
So I tell her I am 4 months shy of 28 and she called me a liar. I showed her my driver's license and she said it was my fake ID.
In a way I loved how that made me feel. I love how it makes me feel to get ID'ed for cigarrettes, and I love how it makes me feel to have 20 year old guys hit on me. But I feel like I loose some of my credibility everytime someone thinks I am still going through puberty.
A lot of people pay tons of money so they can credibly lie about their age. I, on the other hand, just want to age and do so gracefully. Honestly. I don't die my hair despite the fact that I am quickly going gray. I barely wear makeup despite the fact that all those laughs I've had have left their mark so that I don't forget that I did laugh. And I try to act my age the best of my ability despite the fact that I am not your average 27 year old.
My mom says that when she was my age she had three kids and a divorce under her belt. She prays for the grand-children I would love to give her. But times have changed and here I am trying to selfishly survive, and I selfishly because even though having a child is so high up there on my list of priorities that it might as well be life, all the money I should be putting in my child's college fund, lately I find it's better spent on Furla wallets, Gucci sunglasses and weekend trips that will do nothing for me except make my already enlarged ass bigger.
I always thought that by 28 I would have it all figured out. I thought I'd have my own family and I would be living the happily ever after we are raised to believe actually exists. But I have nothing other than more work than necessary to show for my existence. I make family meals for friends, I knit for other people's babies and I coo strangers children...
All the while I pray that little Fiona will come...even if she is an accident...because that would be damn good motivation to trade Gucci sunglasses for those cute baby jumpers I often spend longer than necessary looking at when I go to Saks.