How Old Do I Look, Honestly!

I’ve always been mistaken for being older than I really am.

When I was 16/17 and working at our local bakery, I was asked numerous times if I attended the local college. (flattering, right?)

When I was 21, my husband (1 year and 1 day my elder) and I went out for supper where we each ordered a drink. He was carded by our waiter and I was not. When I snickered, the waiter informed me that he was supposed to card anyone that looked under 30. My husband laughed out loud at the fact that I had not been carded (because apparently at the age of 21 I looked 42 – less flattering and not funny). That waiter received no tip.

When I was 34 a girl at my church mistook me for being older than my 40 year old sister. That sister was a grandmother and the girl that asked me knew that. “Do I look like I could be a grandma? Don’t answer that!” was all I could muster. (starting to become insulting)

A few weeks ago I accompanied Wyn to a doctor’s appointment. The assistant that came to the waiting room to call her name was making small talk on their way back to the room when she asked Wyn if I was her mother. I’m not even kidding! Wyn is 8 months younger than me – hardly enough of a difference to make me her mother! (do you see where this is going?)

My 6’7” basketball playing intern, Sally (whose real name may or may not be Michael) began calling me GT (short for Grandma Tina). I may or may not have threatened to kick him in his junk.

Then on Thursday, Wyn and I were enjoying a play date in one of our favorite hangouts – Target. We hit up the Christmas clearance section and made our way to the checkout. One of the great deals I found were these stuffed polar bears donning festive scarves and hats. At $2.50 each I could barely pass up the opportunity to stock up on secret Santa and $3.00 school gift-exchange gifts. While unloading my portion of the cart on to the conveyor belt, the 50’ish lady in front of me asked me if I was giving them to my grandchildren. SERIOUSLY?! MY GRANDCHILDREN?!

I turned to Wyn who was trying (not very successfully) not to laugh out loud. I said, “We’re friends, right? Do I need to do something different with my hair? Am I in desperate need of some wrinkle cream? You can be honest with me.” She continued to laugh and spent the better part of the day referring to me as “Mom”. She’d a hoot, that one.

I understand I’m not getting any younger, but should I stop wasting my money coloring my hair?