Sometimes I look over my life and see patterns that emerge, things that repeat over and over again.
One of them, sadly, is the fact that I look nearly ten years younger than I am. The time, as a high school freshman, I was volunteering at the elementary school and got asked whose class I was in. My boyfriend at BYU who was teased relentlessly about dating a middle school student. The lady at the grocery store who wouldn’t give me a sample. The lady at Sam’s Club who wouldn’t give me a sample. (Maybe I should stop asking for samples?)
Last week, in the bathroom at work, a mother who works at the school, told me how much her daughter likes me. A warm glow settled on my heart.
She followed it up with, “And she thinks you must be really really smart.” Oh, how my ego was soaring.
“Because you have to be really really smart to finish college when you’re only in eighth grade.”
Rinse, repeat. Thank heavens I do not work in a high school.