25 plus
It's Sunday afternoon and my father, mother, and I are all watching the sun set while drinking coffee at Tim Hortons. As I blow the steam off the top of the cup, I listen to my parents guesstimate my sister's age.
“She’s turning 34 next year,” says my father.
“No, she’s not,” scoffs my mother.
“Yes, she is. She was born in 197-“ I cut off my father while he’s counting with his fingers.
“She’s turning 35,” I say holding the cup, trying to warm my hands. “And the reason why I know is because I’m turning 25 in exactly one month.”
My mother looks at me with a don’t fuck with your mama face.
“Well, it isn’t like I don’t look my age.” I almost bury my nose in the cup, take a sip of my coffee and glance upwards.
“You look like a 17-year-old boy,” my mother says as she points at my chest, disappointed that I don’t look as haggard as I’m supposed to look.
“I wouldn’t say 17, but I get 24 a lot.”
“Hmph.” She turns away from me and towards my father. “Look at me,” she says, turning her head side to side as if she’s in a shampoo commercial. “People think I’m 50.”
“Too bad you’re really 62.” I reply a little too quickly out of habit. Both my father and I giggle and a few drops of coffee splashes from our cups.
“Shut up.” My mother slaps my arm with her coffee-free hand.
“Well, if you can be 50 plus, then I can be 25 plus,” I say.
And, thanks to dimmer switches, dark sunglasses, delusion, and decades-older people by my side, I will be for as long as I can.
“She’s turning 34 next year,” says my father.
“No, she’s not,” scoffs my mother.
“Yes, she is. She was born in 197-“ I cut off my father while he’s counting with his fingers.
“She’s turning 35,” I say holding the cup, trying to warm my hands. “And the reason why I know is because I’m turning 25 in exactly one month.”
My mother looks at me with a don’t fuck with your mama face.
“Well, it isn’t like I don’t look my age.” I almost bury my nose in the cup, take a sip of my coffee and glance upwards.
“You look like a 17-year-old boy,” my mother says as she points at my chest, disappointed that I don’t look as haggard as I’m supposed to look.
“I wouldn’t say 17, but I get 24 a lot.”
“Hmph.” She turns away from me and towards my father. “Look at me,” she says, turning her head side to side as if she’s in a shampoo commercial. “People think I’m 50.”
“Too bad you’re really 62.” I reply a little too quickly out of habit. Both my father and I giggle and a few drops of coffee splashes from our cups.
“Shut up.” My mother slaps my arm with her coffee-free hand.
“Well, if you can be 50 plus, then I can be 25 plus,” I say.
And, thanks to dimmer switches, dark sunglasses, delusion, and decades-older people by my side, I will be for as long as I can.
Authored by S at 12:00 am
11 Comments:
and how many years ago did this take place?
LOL. Sounds like my family.
I also look so young! even though I'm 30..I look 24
You will always be the firm and pliant for ages more my dear. Genetics have given you the best genes to wear jeans and the best face for cologne ads. Deeeelish.
kb
Don't be mean to your mother.
Timmy: Har di har har. It was yesterday. Year 2006.
NSSG: I'm not the only one, then.
KB: Everyone looks good in the dark.
Pablo: I am not mean! If you want to know how mean I can be, e-mail me.
Is this the same woman who quibbled recently about green sateen? Just checking.
Yeah, Steven, but no one can escape the wise words of Dolly Parton's character in Steel Magnolias: "Time marches on--and sooner or later, you realize it's marching across your face."
And I just turned 27.
LOL@Madame!
you're so mean to your poor mom.
Yeah, you're 25 plus alright. Plus, plus, plus, plus, plus. I know how old you REALLY are, so you'd better be nice to me.
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