Today I’m going to share with you the most annoying, then uplifting, then confusing conversation of last week.
While waiting for the doctor at my six-month allergist check-up, the nurse came in to do the preliminary screening. She started asking all the questions which frustrate me. Not only do the answers never change, more often than not, I’ve already answered them on a form ten minutes ago.
“Do you smoke?”
“Have you ever smoked?”
“How old are you?”
Now, this one was a curve ball. I cannot remember the last time I was asked this question in a doctor’s office.
My first thought was, “Look at my dang sheet and I’m sure somewhere it says my birth date. Figure it out yourself.”
But then I thought about how this nurse was only doing her job and how I didn’t want to be that person. You know…that person. The one who decides to be a punk and give an innocent person like a young nurse merely following protocol a difficult time.
Oh, did I mention she was young?
Yeah, young. I’d peg her at 22 years old*.
*So, only three years younger than me if I’m sticking to my guns on this whole 25 forever thing.
Last year’s shared birthday celebration with my SIL. The only candles we have in my house are ‘2’ and ‘5’. I like it that way.
P.s. Why is there a slash in the cake?
I proceeded to calmly answer her question, but was left in an awkward pause, mouth agape, as I considered the answer.
You see, I continue to lie about my age so much, there are moments I truthfully have forgotten it.
I know this doesn’t make any sense. I could easily do the math based on the year I was born*, but for some reason at this point it is easier** for me to use my brothers’ ages to figure out my age. I bounced a few numbers in my head and confirmed*** my age with her.
*Because despite being able to forget my age, this is one thing I can never forget.
**Easier = less painful.
***I say ‘confirmed’ because we all know it was sitting in front of her on that clipboard.
Then kindness became her and she said, “I wouldn’t have guessed you were that age. I would have said mid 20’s, at least.”
My instinct was to think she was putting me on. But then, I thought maybe she was being sincere, and for the rest of the time I spent waiting for the doctor, I held a confused analytical debate with myself regarding the truth of her words.
In the end, I decided if I’m going to continue holding onto 25, I might as well take the win when someone says I look 25*.
*I’m sure the logic behind all this is flawed, but don’t point it out to me, okay? I’d like to remain blissfully unaware.