for the second day in a row i have been asked how old i am…almost afraid i would be offended. i guess the adage goes that you’re not supposed to ask a woman her age, but i don’t get offended at such questions. i don’t think age is a big deal. but both times my response was met with shock.
“you’re 32?” uttered in disbelief.
then follows how i totally don’t look my age and they would have never guessed…and it goes on.
today, my questioner went on by saying, “you look so good for 32.”
i’m not sure how i was supposed to respond to that, but i feel quite certain it was a compliment.
but i walked away wondering what someone who is 32 is supposed to look like, what they are supposed to act like, and how i am all that different.
i don’t know that i’ve ever looked my age throughout my adult years.
i don’t know that i’ve ever acted my age either.
nor do i know that i’ve ever dressed my age (being told at 23 that i did not dress my age because i failed to wear pantyhose and business suits to work–as a youth minister–by a fellow 23 year-old friend in banking).
or even participate in activities someone my age typically engages in.
don’t know what the standard is.
don’t know what it’s supposed to look like.
don’t know that i’ll ever fit a typical mold.
don’t know that i’ll ever want to.
i just know my age…
and it’s just a number.