I am going to be twenty-seven in a couple of months. And I think this is the year I need to start lying about of age. Not for vanity reasons, but more out of necessity.
First of all, I don’t act like I’m twenty-seven. Instead of “nice” mature decorations in my apartment I have action figures and boy band barbies. I still have slumber parties with friends and squeal when I’m excited. I am essentially like a drunk 10 year old.
I can’t find it in me to dress like a respectable adult. I still shop at places designed for 14 year olds and have an endless love for onesies.
I still drink too much on the weekends and want nothing more than to watch endless hours of Netflix – these aren’t adult activities!!
I also like to think I don’t look almost twenty-seven. EXCEPT for the grey hairs that are showing up (BASTARDS) and the tiny laugh lines that have popped up around my eyes. But my mom bullied me into buying a fine line concealer, so now my face is as fresh as a Cabbage Patch Doll’s.
I am always ID’d in liquor stores and when I order drinks at a restaurant, which is probably due to the previously mentioned love of onesies. And it seems like the only dudes that hit on me at a bar are twenty-two. The conversations usually go like this:
Dude: “Hey, can I buy you a drink?”
My tip off half the time should be that they are sporting these Bieber-esque sports caps (I don’t know what they’re called). But then I try to assure myself askew sports caps are in for all ages.
Me: “SURE! That would be amaze-balls!” *arm-flail* because I am the only most obnoxious type of drunk.
Dude: “So like how old are you, you still in school?”
Me: “I’m 26, working in marketing doing freelance on the side. What about you?”
Dude: “Oh I’m 22, in my second year of University.”
Me: “Ah shit, not again. You’re only 22?”
Dude: “Yeah, it’s really no big deal.”
Me: “WHAT DO YOU MEAN, I COULD BE YOUR MOTHER?!”
Dude: “Well that’s not really a logical…”
Me: “Every damn time!”
Dude: “Well you don’t really look a day over 24? Really it’s just a few years” awkward laughter
Me: “Welp this has been fun.” *Chugs drink and flees into the night like Batman.*
However, I am not the only young at heart gal who is having this same problem. My BFF Krista is sensing the same pattern IN JAPAN (probably because we are essentially the same person.)
Our most recent Facebook chat:
Krista: “ALSO when did all the boys become 18-22? WHERE ARE THE BOYS OUR AGE? I swear there were some around here somewhere…”
Me: *looks under table* *shakes head no* *cries*
Maybe this is a sign that I need to stop going to bars that play Ke$ha… but that’s not going to happen anytime soon. So the next obvious step is to lie about my age so I don’t feel like I am on an episode of ‘To Catch a Predator’.
So this summer is going to be the experiment. People ask me how old I am, I am going to say twenty-five. Because it seems much more acceptable for a twenty-five year old to wear boy band shirts and not know how to clean an oven or pay bills on time… right? (Just say yes.)
Has anyone else felt compelled to lie about their age? When I start dressing, acting, feeling like I’m almost twenty-seven then I won’t be so scared of the number. But until then, if anyone asks, I’m twenty-FIVE– GOT IT?!
*I know some of you are reading this, *cough* MOM *cough*, and are like: “Maybe the experiment should be to act your age?” And to that I say “Where is your sense of adventure?” *flees into the night like Batman*