I'm not THAT old...

Every now and then, I happen to catch an episode of “Ten Years Younger” on TLC. On the show, they take tired, haggard-looking people, throw them in a soundproof glass box, and then ask passers-by how old the aforementioned tired, haggard-looking person looks. They then take the person out of the box, whisk them away for a makeover, bring them back to the glass box, and once again ask passers-by how old that person looks.

So really, it’s just another makeover show… with the “how old does this person look?” gimmick thrown in. And I AM convinced that it’s a gimmick… in fact, I’m convinced that the “random” passers-by are coached by someone before they venture a guess as to the Box Person’s age. Because more often than not, the “before” guesses are almost ridiculously old for whoever is in the box (ooooo… look at those ugly shoes… I think that person is 85…), and the “after” guesses are ridiculously young (ooooo… I love those shoes… um, I’d say 22?). In fact, I watched an episode today where a woman’s makeover resulted in a much OLDER look, thanks in part to the soccer-mom haircut she was given and a generous layering of flashy gold accessories. She looked a good ten years OLDER than her 37 years, and yet apparently the ever-complimentary passers-by guessed an average age of 35.

And all I could think was, “I have GOT to get into that glass box…” I mean, if people were guessing that this “new and improved” 37-year-old was only 35, I can only assume that people would guess that I am about seventeen. But then again, as I said, I’m pretty sure the entire show is much less spontaneous than its producers would have us believe. (After all, it wouldn’t make for good television if everyone was guessing that the post-makeover Box People were OLDER than their real ages…)

I remember how much I used to HATE the fact that people were always assuming I was younger than I was, back when I was a teenager. When I was a senior in high school, I wanted people to KNOW that I was a senior in high school – high school seniority is very important to the kids who are stuck in that place. Seniors are supposed to be the rulers of the high school kingdom – all others are mere serfs, existing to do the seniors’ bidding. But it’s rather difficult to feel you have any authority whatsoever when even the FRESHMEN assume you’re a freshman. And when you’re nineteen or twenty years old, and you head into Yankee Stadium on a “free stuff for kids 14 and under” day, and someone hands you a little wooden bat or a bobble head doll without even ASKING if you’re 14, well, that’s rather annoying, too... I guess it wasn’t until my mid-twenties that I really started to appreciate the realization that I might be able to remain forever young… or, rather, forever youngER than I actually am…

But nowadays I wonder how long it actually WILL last. On my thirtieth birthday – a day when I was already lamenting the fact that no one had offered me free “14 and under” stuff at Yankee Stadium in YEARS – I found a single gray hair on top of my head. ON my thirtieth birthday. It was as if Mother Nature decided to hammer home the reality that it doesn’t matter how young I look – I’m STILL getting older. Even my fake young age is getting older… I mean, I certainly can’t pass for 14 anymore.

But really, who’d want to be 14 again anyway??? I’ll just be happy with, uh, let’s say 25…