ID please

You know, sometimes I would fool myself into believing that I’m still 19. And from my looks I could fool just about anyone into believing so. In fact I’ll take it further and say I’m 17 and they, not for a million dollars, would doubt me.

A customer walked into the shop today and he said to my colleague, “You’ve got a lot of assistants today.” Then he looked at me. “Now you must be someone’s sister only here to help for the day. It’s illegal for an underage to work you know.”

*emotionless smile* I’ve got nothing to say.

Once I was stopped from entering the cinema because that idiot underage-looking guy thought I was below 18. Hey go look in the mirror, you! My friends couldn’t stop joking about it after that. What’s so funny? But everyone thought it was. I never told anyone about that incident. I guess I’ve gotten over it. It’s OK to tell now. You can laugh all you want now and I won’t care because 10 years down the road, I’ll be the one laughing. Still, I don’t want to be in that embarrassing situation again so I try to look like I’m dead serious every time I walk in the cinema for an above 18 movie. Never smile. Never. Smile and it’s time to reach for your identity card.

The cold, hard fact is not so. I’m 21 turning 22 and I hate that idea. Yea I know, being in the early 20s is the best. When you’re 50, you’re gonna look back and say “Ahh…those days in my 20s. What a time!” But I’m not exactly having a ball of a time. Which is why I don’t want to grow old. I’d like to be like this until the time when I can really have the time of my life. Then I can record that down as those sweet early 20s days. Then I’ll be contented. Then I’ll move on and grow old and do the late 20s or 30s stuff. Eew couldn’t believe I just said that. When I looked at the number 21, it felt really young for an age. And I’m talking like someone with midlife crisis.

There can never be enough fun.