Keep my age to yourself

No one appreciates reminders of their advancing age, especially at 32 when a young gal still feels like 23. At one time, I saw my hairdresser because I wanted to, now I continue to see my hairdresser because I have to. My roots do not just grow out, so do my grays. At one time, my waist circumference used to be in the twenties. Evidently, waist size increases proportionally (x.5%) as age increases. And not just waist size, but jean size, bra size and panty size. And to put the nail in my puma coffin, I drive a four door tan sedan. Speaking of four door sedans, and speaking of this puma on the prowl, I was an innocent victim of high school giddy games recently that REALLY made me feel my age.

Ladies, gents, remember WAY back when... back to a time when boys and girls had little crushes that left you giddy, nervous, and excited? And do you remember being that underclassmen who totally adored that upperclassmen, that cutie patutie teacher, or that hot something-er-other working the McDonald's drive thru, or the star athlete? Do you remember being totally enamored with an older, wiser, and totally unlikely object of your realistic affections? I do. And while I'm flattered at the mere thought that a car full of barely-post-pubescent boys felt it necessary to honk (twice), yell, (thrice), and another time even louder for the full effect, and then get all giddyasaschoolgirl with big wide toothy grins from ear to ear, and wave the "helLOO!". My first thought was, "well, how cute is that?" and then it donned on me what was really going on. I've been punked. I'm not old enough to be that "woman" that gets the hollers, the looks, the silly cat calls from boys that could, in all honesty, be my offspring. I refuse to believe I've reached that point that I recall so well - doing those stupid embarrassing things, like driving in endless circles in the neighborhood of the crush, just to catch a mere glimpse in the window, add my phone number with his, write his name over and over with mine, scope out our "sign" compatability (oh, wait...). I am not old enough to be the object of fascious attention, just for $hits and giggles. I am not old enough to be that girl that waves for the sake of "making their day"! I don't want to be that girl, yet, I want teenagers to ignore me like I do them!!