As Momma says, I may be old, but I'm not dead yet.

I suppose I have always been a late bloomer. I didn’t lose all my baby teeth until I was fifteen, my first kiss came in eighth grade, my bra size until the age of 22 was literally “Nearly an A”, and at the ripe old age of 28 I am teething. While I’m not sure if teething is the appropriate term for getting your first wisdom tooth, I am sure that it hurts like a biznatch. Consequently I would adore one of those little ring things you freeze and then num num on, or what I have been told the adult form of one of those is, vicodin. I have neither.

It might be the short stature, my attire which is comparable to that of a 15 year old boy, or the baby face that has somehow avoided skin damage even though I refuse to use sunscreen, but with my 29^th (shudder) birthday looming I still get mistaken for an 18 year old. People say that someday I would take being mistaken for much younger than I am as a compliment. Truth be told, at times it is an annoyance but for the most part I have never minded it and have truly enjoyed my ‘youth’ and will continue to enjoy it for as long as it lasts. I really do nothing to hold on to it, no visits to the fountain, no makeup to cover emerging wrinkles, no trips to the salon to cover up the grays. What is it from that Kenny Chesney song, “You treat your body like a temple, I treat mine like a tent.”? That pretty much sums it up.

The fact of the matter is that I don’t feel older, at least mentally, and I like to think that has something to do with my often mistaken youth. I still enjoy the same things that I always have. Monday my lunch menu consisted of a lunchable, a brownie, a snack size bag of Doritos, and a pack of fruit snacks. Yes, I realize I was lacking a Capri sun, but Momma doesn’t pack my lunch anymore and I forgot it in the fridge. I spent last Sunday at the water park, shooting out of water slides into a pool which I'm sure was filled with a bunch of 8 year old's urine, only taking a break to suck down a blue raspberry Icee. I adore naps, and love recess, granted they call it physical training (P.T.) but playing basketball at work is recess to me. Basically, I'm a huge believer that you're as young as you feel. So next month, do me a favor and wish me a happy 26th.