Looking the Part

I have almost come to terms with the fact that I look way younger than I actually am. People always say, after misinterpreting my age and then getting embarrassed about it, that I’ll enjoy it when I’m 50. But it’s not something that’s very easy to enjoy right now while I’m a college student working hard on my career goals and trying to be taken seriously. Usually when people underestimate my age they guess that I’m in high school, something between 15 and 18. This is understandable; it wasn’t too long ago that I actually was a teenager and those in-between ages can be difficult to judge. But the other day I was so taken aback at a man’s guess that I could barely squeak out that I was, in fact, 20.


I was with my dad picking up a friend at the airport. We were parked along the curb of the terminal when my dad said he needed to run inside to pee. You’re not supposed to leave your car unattended at the airport (I don’t know, something about a security threat…) so he had me sit in the front seat. Do I even need to tell you that almost as soon as he disappeared inside the airport a cop started shooing people along? I panicked. If I didn’t move he would come over and see that the car was without driver, but if I did I risked not knowing where to go and possibly getting into an accident. The seat and mirrors were all set to my dad’s preferences, but, not knowing that else to do, I moved the cumbersome van a few more feet down the sidewalk attempting to get out of other peoples’ way.

At this point I was hyperventilating and called my dad to inform him that he should come back immediately. His obnoxiously yellow shirt immerged from the airport and I saw him jogging toward the car faster than I’ve ever actually seen him move before. Meanwhile, the cop was strolling to the car and it was a race to see who could get to me first.

Guess who won.

Me: “My dad’s on his way back right now, see that’s him in the yellow shirt” (impossible to miss unless the brightness blinded you).
Cop: “What’s he doing leaving you alone in the car?”
Me: “I can drive…just…not at airports…” (Please God do not let him ask me for my license because I forgot it at home)
Dad wheezes up at this point
Cop: What are you doing leaving her alone in the car? What is she, 13?

13. Thirteen. One three.

Alright, people. I can understand someone guessing that I’m 17, maybe, given the day, I would even accept 15. But 13? I mean, I know I'm adorable, but being mistaken for an age 7 years younger than what I actually am may be of use to me in the future, but not at this stage in life.

And yes, I was sporting pigtail braids on this particular day, but that’s beside the point.

                                      Now does this really look like the face of a thirteen year old?