Can I See Your ID?

Lady's and Gentlemen, I have baby face. I always forget that I have baby face until I try to be an adult then suddenly the world reminds me that I look pretty much like I'm fifteen. When I tell people this I hope at least one people will be like "Nah, Dude, you look at least eighteen." Sadly 'tis never the case. Instead what I get is, "You totally do." Sometimes this is a nod of agreement that someone has obviously noticed before, but never mentioned and other times it is a sudden realization all How I Met Your Mother style with glass shattering.

My sister however is the loud chewer.

Like every other child, I managed to make it through middle school with people generally aware what my age was. (This may also be because I never met anyone new in the time period and thus never had the baby face discussion.) Then I started high school and I was good for a couple years. Then suddenly everybody thought I was twelve for the next two.

THE AGE OF SIXTEEN

The summer after my sophomore year of high school was the year when I was 16 and the year that everyone thought I was 12. That was the year I learned all about the hardships of baby face. (It's a serious condition people.) It started when a friend of mine and her family were staying in a hotel in our hometown because they were in the process of moving to Germany and the crazy relatives invading my house made it uninhabitable. (There is way more to that store, but some other time perhaps.) Anyways my older sister, my friend, a friend of my sister, and me were all hanging out in the hotel lobby. Just talking about, to be honest, really boring things in between the flirting of my friend with my sister's friend. Then at some point however we ended up talking about how he's a writer and he writes these deep things. He of course asked if we wanted to read some of it. He pulled out his phone and passed it around showing his writing to my sister and my friend. Then when it got to me he was like, "Well, my writing's a little mature, I don't know if it's really appropriate for you."

Uhm what? I was sixteen at the time and went to high school with his sister who was literally only a few months older. I didn't even get to answer with a "How old do you think I am?" Because my older sister chimed in with the answer of how I was a mature teenage person not in fact a little kid tag along. Which allowed me to read the thing on his phone (I think it involved a reference to sex or something. I don't remember.), but really just made me seem much more like a little kid tag along trying to hang with the big kids. Also I didn't contribute a whole lot to the conversation before that either because A) I'm not a talker and B) It mostly existed for the sole purpose of my friend and him flirting.

Moral To The Story: Next time stay in the room and watch cartoons with friend's six year old sister.

THE AGE OF SEVENTEEN

When I was seventeen I had mostly forgotten about my baby face's existence because again I never met anyone new often enough for it to come up and I had at least one friend who was shorter and had more of a baby face. It had completely slipped my mind that people outside this bubble thought I was twelve until, I took a road trip down to Texas with my younger sister and mom for my grandmother's funeral. When we were at her wake (which in a way only my family could do was held at a podunk cowboy church) I was standing around nibbling at cheese cubes and a friend of my grandmother came over to say hello. And then she proceeded to inform me of what a beautiful girl I was and how all I needed to do was get my hair out of my eyes, maybe wear some more color and boys would be all over me. Again I was at a wake.

I was smiling politely when my mom came up. My grandmother's friend after introducing herself, continued the topic of the length of my bangs with my mother. (I had been having this same argument, debate, and on one occasion a half step away from being hogtied in the bathroom while my mother cut them for three years.) When my mother mentioned I was in high school somewhere in this conversation. That surprised the lady immensely and she turned to me and asked my age. To which I replied, "seventeen," in the most duh voice a teenager could possibly muster. To which the lady replied, "Oh, I thought you were twelve." From then on the discussion of my bangs ceased for the rest of the wake. 

Moral To The Story: Wearing black and having bangs covering your eyes at age 12 = I can make you into a lady one day. Wearing black and bangs covering your eyes at age 17 = Oh, nevermind. How about these cheese cubes huh?

AGE OF EIGHTEEN

Turning eighteen was really the most maddening part of  having a baby face because I wanted to go do things and be out in the world. Of course all my friends were underage so that never happened, but whatever. The saddest part though was just how udderly ridiculous it is being the oldest one yet the one only one who gets asked for ID.

One time I was with my aunt and younger sister bumming around target and I came across a five dollar copy of V for Vendetta, so I was all 'I'm going to buy this." Then we went to the checkout counter and I was all set to pay with my money and stuff and then she asked for my ID and I just went "huh? Why?" Because that movie is R rated and I look like a bleeding fifteen year old! Both of these are facts I forget because A) I don't think about my looking fifteen until someone brings it up and B) I don't categorize movies I like by maturity rating. (The zombies and guts sits right next to the cartoons and butterflies. So long as it's alphabetical of course.)

That one simple step of show my your ID to prove your not being a delinquent totally messed me up. I was not prepared! It totally frazzled my brain. I am an adult dammit! If I want violence, explosions, and dystopian societies, it should not be this difficult! But yeah, what should have been two minutes down the express lane took ten. I had to fight my ID out of my wallet because it decided this was the moment when it was going to cling onto the sides for dear life. Then I got it back and was like "now what?" That's when you pay stupid. In other words it was a clusterfuck and I now own a wallet with a clear viewer thing for my ID just in case of such a situation. (I also use adult grown up words like clusterfuck to prove my adultness.)

My younger sister, however, has managed to buy violent R rated movies without being ID'd.  I still have yet to master this and gone to buying R rated things online.

Moral Of The Story: Become a dude so I can grow a mustache and look older.

There was also the time when my younger sister and our friend were planning to go see Cabin In The Woods, but couldn't because I didn't look old enough so they asked for IDs and they didn't have theirs because they don't drive and high school IDs don't have your age. Also our friends mom doesn't look like our friend because she's white and our friend is half Saudi Arabian. So we gave up and went roller skating instead. Read about it here. 

AGE TWENTY

I am now twenty years old I still get ID'd for everything. In my entire adult life I have not been ID'd for a thing once. I bought a bottle of NyQuil and the cashier didn't ID me. I was so freaking excited that I practically danced home. (And then I coughed a bunch and passed out because I really needed that cold medicine.

While I no longer look like I'm twelve. (Yay! Boobs!) I still get told I look way young. When I was working on the set of a music video for school, the twelve year old actress was surprised that I was older than my co-art directer because according to her I look like I'm fifteen. So, I'm moving up in the world people. I now look old enough to drive a car with adult supervision.

I turn 21 in in two and a half months and I might as well just tape the blasted ID to my forehead for the festivities. This is why people need bar-codes tattooed on their arms. One little scan and boom you never have to fumble through your wallet to pull out your ID to prove you're an adult and can handle the responsibility of NyQuil again.

Tetherball

Tetherball is an incredibly dramatic sport. Requiring almost ninja reflexes and skill. At least that is what I discovered after I lost my epic Kung-Fu battle with one.

It started simple enough with an afternoon walk to the park. After the basic tomfoolery of jumping off swings and climbing things, we discovered the tether-ball. Standing there majestically calling our names to come and play with it.

The tetherball was up to no good however. It coaxed us in with the promise of a fun children's game, but left us (and by us I mean me) with only pain.  Round one was my younger sister and her boyfriend. It was a one sided battle where my sister spend the entire time cringing and ducking as though the inanimate ball on a string was going to eat her. If I had only headed that as a warning

An actually less terrified expression than what befell my sister's face.

I of course being an older sibling had to mock my younger sister for her terror. It was a ball on a string what possible horrors could it be hiding?

Then it was my turn to battle my sister's boyfriend in this game. The first round was well, sad to say the least. He served and the ball wrapped itself around the top of the pole where me and my shortness could not reach. Leaving me to leap upwards in an attempt that didn't even let me tap it with my finger tips.

After such a  fail that it can only be described as steering the Titanic, it was round two and my turn to serve. So that is exactly what I did. It went well and wrapped around the pole a couple times. There was even some decent volley. Then WAMP! It came careening back at me with vengeance and what I can only assume was it's evil plan all along. Where was I hit you ask?

Was it the face?

 

Was it the nads?

Just kidding. I don't have nads

Or was it just a sudden increase in gravity that caused me to land on top of the ball?

Actual Google image result for getting hit by a ball.

I'll give you as much time as it takes to read this sentence to confer with you team. (Were we actually playing with teams?)

The answer is the Solar Plexus! Ding ding ding! Do we have a winner? (Seriously do we?)

So that is how I lost my Kung Fu fight with a tetherball. Napoleon Dynamite, I salute you for surviving such an ordeal without mass amounts of pain.

I have come to the conclusion that tetherball is the boss battle of the playground and there is a very good reason that no one ever ever played it. Few are prepared for such an ordeal.