The Day I Wanted to be an Adult

I’ve written before that at times I have been mistaken for… oh… a 2-year-old. It’s not entirely the fault of the people who have mistaken me for a child, but you’d think someone would realize – 2-year-olds don’t have hair on their upper lips.

Most women don’t either. But again, I can’t help it that my hormones are crazy. The truth is – I LOOK young (minus the upper-lip hair).

Recently I was congratulating myself because no one had carded me for NyQuil in say… the past week. At that moment I was on my way to work in a gated community (I do private music tutoring there) when I was stopped at the entrance. I must have looked like a dangerous criminal, because the security guard combed my car over carefully.

“Are you a terrorist?” he asked.

“Excuse me?”

“You have a raft and paddle in your trunk. Do you plan to infiltrate this community?”

Clearly, this man thought I was a real threat. I congratulated myself on accidentally leaving the kayak gear in the trunk. But beyond that... I looked old enough to be a threat!

Or maybe he thought the mustache was a phony disguise?

He finished his inspection and background check and decided he had to let me go.

This is great, I thought again. I look like an adult!

“By the way.” The security guard raised an eyebrow at me. “How old are you anyway?” He eyed the birth-date on my license suspiciously.

“25,” I said.

“You look 14.” he said.

“25,” I said.

“14…”

The argument continued as I closed my door. It continued as I started my car. It continued as I drove away. (It’s amazing how far the human voice will carry, even over the roar of a 1994 Honda's engine.)

I was almost to work when my heart sank.

He was kidding about the boat infiltration. I didn’t look like an adult. I looked like a punk trying to grow a mustache. And I was about to be arrested for truancy.

Good thing it’s summertime.