So, apparently I’m old. I have been happily oblivious to it until now. 

Yesterday I was at an event, and while waiting in line for food I noticed I was standing behind a girl I have seen several times but had never met. I had no idea how old she was exactly, but she was young. And I thought, “I’m young, she’s young … I should know who she is.”

I tapped her on the arm and said “Hi! I’m Harmony ... I have seen you a few times and I just wanted to introduce myself.” And she introduced herself and then I did that thing I do sometimes where I start talking and can’t seem to stop. I heard myself saying “Anytime I see someone young I feel the need to introduce myself, you know, we young people need to stick together …” and she started giving me a funny look. Then she asked me point blank, “How old are you?” and I knew I had gotten myself into a situation.

“I’m 32.”

“Oh … well, you look good for your age.”

As it turns out, she is 21.

I wanted to die.

All this time, I have been fancying myself to be youthful, when in fact, I am not. I am old and probably haggard-looking and I have two children and I am certainly no longer twenty-freaking-one. My newfound acquaintance did me a FAVOR. She reminded me of my place. 

It’s among the 30-somethings who talk politics and diaper bags. EW.