just a number

I’m constantly meeting new people.  That’s what happens when you move to a new city.  You meet new people.  Trey and I have several friends “our own age” that we spend time with here.  Except “our own age” means 23.  What?  Either I’m a horrible age  guesser or I have no idea how old I actually am. 

 

My friend Kelli said it best: 

“I feel like I’m stuck in a time warp where everyone else ages and I stay the same.”

 

I’ve always looked younger than I am.  When I was 21 I was still getting carded to go to rated R movies without an adult.  Now that I’m 30, I still get carded for beer…but only when I’m not wearing makeup.  Don’t get me wrong, I love looking like a kid.  I know I’ll love it even more when I’m 60.  Part of it is because I have (in the words of my super-young-looking Mom) young genes.  Part of it is because I started a pretty involved skin care regimen when I was 9. 

 

Why?  Because for a brief shining moment in time, I was a child model. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Are you done laughing yet?  Let me explain.  When dance lessons and piano lessons and gymnastic lessons got old, I asked mom if I could take modeling lessons.  As a step toward acting I guess.  I learned how to walk a runway.  I learned how to deliver lines in front of a camera.  And I learned how to take really good care of my skin.  This is probably the reason I started using anti-wrinkle cream at the ripe old age of 23.  Which is how old my new friends are. 

 

 

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