My Boobs Are Peeling; And Other Tales of Horror
I don't really have any tales of horror. I just thought the title was fun.
I should be working on cleaning my room now. Eh. Not feeling it. But then again, when am I ever feeling it?
Last night, at dinner with my friend Caitlin and her parents, I ordered a Rolling Rock with my meal. Now, I know I look younger than I am. I'm used to being carded. In fact, I would be shocked if I wasn't. But I like to imagine that I at least look sixteen, seventeen, maybe eighteen.
So I order my beer, and the waitress asks to see my ID, and Mr. and Mrs. P are all, "Oh, she's twenty-one, believe us." But I was like, "No, no, it's okay." The waitress looks at my driver's license for like thirty seconds, look back at me.
"I thought you were kidding! I would have thought fourteen, fifteen tops."
For the rest of the meal, every time she comes back to our table, she repeats, "Fourteen. Fourteen!"
Jesus Christ on a pogo stick. Four-fucking-teen. I know I'm always going to look younger than I am, and that this will be a good thing when I'm in my forties or fifties, but fourteen? That's just humiliating. I look like a freshman in high school.
I consoled myself that it was because I didn't have any make up on. I don't know if it makes that much difference, but I'd like to fancy that with make up on, I look at least sixteen. Damn.
Yesterday was a somewhat disturbing day altogether. I went to the book sale at the library, strategically waited until the bag sale started, and then went in to start filling up my bags. I ended up getting eight bags of books for eight dollars.
But the creepy part was when this weird old guy started talking to me. My mom was there, and we both thought he was strange but harmless at first, because he was talking about books. So then my mom wandered off to another table and left me, and as soon as she's gone the old fat weirdo moves closer and says, "I like your perfume. What kind is it? It smells good."
I'm like, "Uh, thanks," wait a few seconds, and discreetly hightail it over to my mommy.
I say, "Thanks for leaving me alone with the creepy old guy," and my mom's all, "He's harmless." I respond, "He said I smelled good! He asked me what kind of perfume I was wearing!"
My mom: "Oh. Move closer to me."
Now, with the fourteen comment hanging in my mind, I'm thinking he was probably a prospective pedophile.
Last night was better, though, as you can probably tell from my drunken post from the wee small hours of the morning. We went to Allison's house and had a celebratory girls' night in, since Roxy's leaving for Ukraine next weekend. We played board games and got drunk on White Russians. Fun times.
I think I need to go take my shower now, and then work on cleaning my room. Seriously. Or maybe clean my room and then take my shower, since I'm bound to get dirty in the process.
sunburn, age, weirdos, daily life