Ah, denial. Nobody wants to think they look their age. After all, how many times have you heard someone observe how old everybody else looked at their high school reunion? Yeah, right.
And I'm no exception. I like to think that, at the very least, I look my age, give or take a year. But I wasn't quite prepared for the comment tossed my way this week.
I was performing a community service errand at a retirement center with two acquaintances, older women who are most definitely older than me. I mean, nobody would look at the three of us and think that we ever hung out together at an Osmond Brother concert in the '70's. One I might guess to be in her early-sixties, and the other hovers somewhere around my mother's age, which is 73. Both are nice looking ladies who take pride in their appearances; styled, highlighted hair, tasteful make-up, fashionable clothes.
But there is no mistaking either one for Britney Spears, know what I mean?
So there we were in the car, on our way back from the retirement center, making casual chit-chat about the residents we had met and the whole aging process. Then the older woman turns to me and without batting a carefully mascaraed-eye, casually quips, "You know, I'm probably older than you."
Excuse me? Probably? PROBABLY?
Is the sun probably hot? Are Siegfried & Roy probably more than just friends? Is somebody in this car probably in denial?
Which then begets the question (gulp): who?
This reminded me of an incident a couple years ago, when I was buying a bottle of wine at Cost Plus and was carded. Me, a 40-something year old woman carded! Chuckle, chuckle. I flashed my driver's license while inwardly relishing the moment and sending silent words of thanks to Oil of Olay.
Fast forward a few weeks later. I'm again at Cost Plus and see the same youthful checker at a different checkout stand. I'm about to bedazzle her with my oh-so youthful grin ("Hey peep, remember me? Isn't Justin Timberlake the bomb!") when I see that she's carding her current customer: a woman who I'm guessing first showed her ID when she cast her presidential vote...for Herbert friggin' Hoover.
Am I tossing the Oil of Olay? Probably.