How old am I, anyway?

Batty Betty asked me that yesterday, and even as I opened my mouth to answer I felt a moment of panic. I was about to say twenty, but I immediately shut my mouth again, feeling completely flummoxed. I counted the years (twice), then opened my mouth again to ask Moom.

“WAIT!”, thought I. “I can do this!” I eventually answered by saying that I was pretty sure that I was twenty, but one can never be quite sure of these things. And it’s true!!


Laziness revealed. 

Still, it’s not entirely comforting to think about. By the time I turned seventeen, I could no longer be held accountable for keeping track of my own age. Eighteen in particular was a confusing year, in which I spent one memorable night lying awake and debating with myself. I was half asleep, and I couldn’t for my life remember if I was sixteen, seventeen, or eighteen.  Eventually I woke up enough to realize I was in a dorm room, and that pretty much settled the matter.

This morning though, it wasn’t so much a question of age, but a question of structure that made me giggle.  After all those long and painful years of restricted access to the following highly addictive and dangerous substance, my mother actually suggested that I have this for breakfast:


Cookies.  All those years.  If, perchance, you fancied a cookie, you had to be sure to bribe your grandfather with one as well.  That way he “wouldn’t tell on you”.  (Looking back, I’m quite convinced that he enjoyed our cookie-thieving antics more than we did, and would never consider telling on us.)  We learned to hold onto the metal lid, so it’s tell-tale ringing sound was barely discernable from the main room.

We were permitted to have a 3:00 snack, but it was agonizing to wait that long between snack and dessert.  We were out there running around in the water and sun, and I’m quite sure our parents had long forgotten how hungry it is to be an Urchin.  In fact, only two things have made me that hungry since.  The first being stage management, and the second being college.


It’s back to Ann Arbor tomorrow morning, but only until Saturday.  Go, little blue Honda, go!!

5 Responses to “How old am I, anyway?”

  1. Liz Says:

    Hope you get your math back on track soon 😉 20 should be easy, since the last digit of the current year and the last digit of the year you were born in should match. 2007/1987 see?

  2. Pooh Says:

    Time to put your birth year in long-term memory, instead of your age, and do the math as Liz suggests. Although I have to admit that I have a yahoo group identity of ANNEAR56 someplace, as I forgot my birth year! How much sleep had you had the night before?

  3. Jax Says:

    You’re not the only one, Mousie! Most of the time I’m still firmly convinced I’m 17.

  4. Anne Says:

    You just need to get a tattoo like mine with the year of your birth. You can still forget, but the reminder will be close by.

  5. Dog Momster Says:

    All I know is I feel a heckuva lot younger than my chronological age…and *that’s* where my confusion begins!!!


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