I’m 22 years old. I will turn 23 at the end of this month. At least that’s what my birth certificate says and what my mother has told me. I think it’s wrong though. I think I’m actually 85 years old, soon to be 86.
What I should be doing is going out every night, partying it up while I have no responsibilities in my life. No relationship, no children. Nothing to hold me back. I’m young, I should be able to stay up til all hours of the morning and wake up the next day for work with no problems. I should be the ‘woo’ girl in crowds. (You know, the random girl who screams “WOO!” in any large group of people) I’m only 22. I should be the life of every party. But I’m not. (I’m the life of the party-pooper party, that’s for sure)
And why don’t I do any of these things? I watch sitcoms, I know what twenty-somethings are doing these days. I should be meeting strangers, going on dates, getting in shenanigans all the time. I do none of those things. And do you know why? My initial thought was maybe it had something to do with my anti-social behavior. But nope, that’s not it at all. There’s only one logical solution as to why I don’t act like a young 22 year old. It’s because I’m actually an old woman.
I have the evidence right here:
- I go to bed at 10 p.m. I wake up at 6:30 a.m. No one in their twenties does this.
- I have a nail file and I use it regularly. I’ve only ever seen middle-aged women using these things during church services. Granted I haven’t started filing my nails during church yet, I can only imagine it’s a slippery slope.
- I look at the weekly ads in the Sunday paper. I don’t even know what to say about this. I don’t even read the funnies anymore. I just look at the ads hoping for a great steal on a tee at Target, like a regular old suburban housewife.
- I cannot function without a cup of coffee. It’s getting to the point where I must have 2. I used to never drink coffee. Now if I don’t drink at least one cup a day, I’m dead by 2 pm. No youthful exuberance left in me.
- My DVR is set to record Live With Kelly. This is just embarrassing. I’m recording a daytime talk show. And a crappy one at that. Who am I? June Cleaver? So shameful.
- I misplace my glasses at least twice every morning while getting ready for work. It’s like I have Alzheimer’s.
- The other night I complained that my feet hurt after a day of work. I’m one step away from wearing crocs because they make my feet feel GREAT. If I start wearing footwear, function over fashion, that’s when I know I’m a goner.
- I saw a group of people no more than 4 years younger than me at the mall and referred to them as “a bunch of weirdies.” Straight old age stuff right there.
Do you see what I mean? There’s no way I’m actually just twenty-two. I don’t know why everyone has been lying to me about my age. If I’m 57 just tell me. No one my age does these things. No one. Just me. Clearly I’m not a youthful 22-year-old. I’m at least middle-aged that’s for sure. The evidence is stacked against me.
I’m totally cool with it though. It just makes me one step closer to being able to say rude things and blame it on my age. Now if you’ll excuse me, it’s almost my bedtime. Gotta get my full 8 hours and my REM cycle in or I’ll never make it to noon.
[Editors note: There’s a good chance that all this evidence proves is that I’m actually just really, really lame and not an old woman. But I’d rather my old woman behavior be based on a flaw in science rather than my own lameness. It’s better for me this way.]