Age Ain't Nothing But a Number

This wasn't originally meant to go on my blog, to be honest. This was actually supposed to be a hilarious, self deprecating and short Facebook status update about "The most exciting thing that happened to me in 2015." That didn't pan out. Clearly.

I don't blog very often. My last blog post was at the beginning of this year. In case you haven't noticed, it's December. I generally only do this when I want to share something, but I feel that if it was posted directly as a status update, it would come across as self-indulgent overshare and quite possible bore someone to death. That's when I open up the old bloggity blog. That way you aren't forced to read the first couple lines before the Continue reading... link appears when you're on the can and scrolling through pictures of everyone's goddamn baby sucking on a Christmas ornament. You clicked on it. You made your choice.

Now that you've assumed partial responsibility for your ennui-related demise, let us proceed. I recently turned 25. That made me feel a thing. Nothing new, just the general quarter life crisis bull: "Who am I?; What have a become?; Why do my lungs hurt?; What do you mean you're not supposed to mix vinegar and bleach as the resulting chemical reaction creates mustard gas?" That whole chestnut.
But by far the greatest development of having turned 25 is something that I never thought possible. Something that I had no idea bothered me to this extent. Let me paint a little picture for you:

I have never looked my age. 

I was a fucking enormous kid. Like... in second grade we used the overhead projector to trace our silhouette onto coloured construction paper and then inside we wrote facts about ourselves. Our age, our height, our weight. There were two children in the entire class over 80 lbs. Me and this other kid Brad. I can't even say it's because of baby fat, because I was a gangly, rib sticking out little sumbitch. I was just tall and huge and looked like I was 10 instead of 6. 

I grew up in Penticton, so I went a lot of places unaccompanied. Shit that wouldn't have flown in a city like Calgary. Often when I was younger, my friend Stephanie and I would take our allowances and ride the bus down to Cherry Lane Mall. We'd look at jewelry in Claire's, laugh at the crazy boob shaped mugs in San Francisco. I would buy ceramic figurines of dragons from the Dollar Store and lipgloss from the discount bin at Overwaitea. We would enjoy fries from A&W for lunch. A group of middle school boys, 3 or 4 years older tried to hit on me- telling me I had a nice body. When I told them I was 10 they were confused. Also, pissed.

In 7th grade, first day of junior high, a new classmate came up asking me for directions. I said I didn't know. She had thought I was a teacher. That same year, my family went out to the the Keg for a special dinner. My brother and I went in to get a table while everyone else stayed outside for a smoke. They asked us if we wanted to sit in the lounge while we waited for the rest of our party to arrive. I was 12.

At 13, I went to volunteer with the Calgary Bridge Foundation for Youth as a classroom assistant at a summer camp for children of new immigrants. I caught the eye of a 16 year old boy who was also "volunteering." There's quotes around "volunteering" because I am now 90% it was community service. I told him I was "almost 14." We went on a date to Sicome Lake and he told me that he couldn't imagine me with "guys in junior high," because I was so "mature."

In high school, I was cast as an old woman in half of the plays I participated in. Also, once more in university.

When I turned 18, even though I had a mouth full of braces, I considered pulling out my new ID card a treat. I was rarely asked. Around the same time, one of my boyfriend's friends got really drunk and started laughing in my face. I asked her what was so funny and she said: "Hans is older than you, but you look so much older than him."

At 20, I was told by my teachers (accurately, I might add) that the first decade of my acting career would be tough. I mean, why would you hire the fresh out of school 20 year old who looked older, when you could hire a 30 year old with ten years more experience?

At 22 a coworker told me, "REALLY? Wow. No offense, I just honestly thought you were like AT LEAST 27." She's dead now.*

*probably not true

And then a few weeks ago, I started bartending at ATP, the day after my 25th birthday. One of the lovely girls there wished me well and asked me how old I had turned. She followed it up with, "Yeah, that's about what I would have guessed." And everyone around her agreed.

AND I BEGAN TO FUCKING WEEP.

The End