Last Friday, Brady and I enjoyed a night out with some co-workers (and their wives), and left Ella with a babysitter. While it was nice to get away and feel like an adult, I am still reeling from a comment someone made. Inevitably, the topic somehow turned to how long Brady and I have been together (14 years!!!!) and how utterly impossible it seems. Except instead of someone making a pseudo-flattering comment about how young we must have been, this time, the opposite happened. Someone said, "Wait. You're only thirty? I thought you were at least 38 or 40." Excuse me? What kind of thing is that to say? Don't get me wrong. There is nothing wrong with being 38, or even 40. NOTHING. But I just turned 30. And that was traumatic enough.
Though I wish I could just let it go, I cannot. It was very hurtful, though unintentionally so. And I completely understand that my reaction is just that—mine... but it makes me wonder: How did I transition so quickly from being considered youthful (and getting carded) to being viewed as middle-aged? Honestly. Any ideas? 'Cause I am not having it. NOT. HAVING. ANY. OF. IT.
From now on, it's blue eyeshadow and hot pants for me.
1 comment:
gfriend, randoms will always think what they want. you are full of life, vitality and luminosity--you know this, and that's the most important thing, really. honey, child. don't even waste your time...however, i loved the mental image of you in hot pants and blue eye shadow hauling ass with a walker. fan-effin-tastic!
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