Monday, August 11, 2008

Please Don't Let Me Have Daughters

No one ever believes me when I tell them that come October 30th, I'll be turning the Big 3-0. Maybe it's because I still don't have to shave every day.

That part is a familial / genetics thing because my brother Pete will be turning 32 in September and if he shaves twice a month it's generally one too many times. The baby face is genetic too. Dude is going on 32 and could reasonably pass for early 20s. I'm not even kidding.

Anyway, age has been on my mind for the last little while because working at Montana's has totally skewed my ability to accurately gauge the ages of the people around me. More correctly, I have no idea how old girls are anymore.

This is what happens when you're surrounded by a large female population anywhere between the ages of 16 and 25; they all just blend together and you either look like an idiot for thinking someone is too old or make yourself feel a little creepy when you find out that the tall, attractive young hostess is half your age... literally.

I may not look 30, but at least I couldn't get you thrown in jail!

Two things:

  1. I've just stopped answering when people ask me how old I think they are because I always end up getting it wrong
  2. Please Don't Let Me Have Daughters!
Honestly, I couldn't deal with this shit as a parent.

It's bad enough now as an innocent bystander and occasional horribly bad guesser. There isn't a day that goes by that I don't spend part of my shift wondering why in the hell these girls come into work decked out like they're going out. And not just to some shit-shack, hole in the wall either.

They come in decked like they're off to the VIP after work, seemingly oblivious to the fact that the fragrant aromas of Montana's are going to linger in their near lingerie. Nothing like heading out for a night on the town smelling like ribs!

Between jeans so tight you can't put a quarter in your pocket to call your Mom when you need her to pick you up and slathering on the makeup so that your teenage skin looks old and weathered like a battle-hardened booze hound, I can't walk into work without shaking my head and praying to whoever is in charge up there that one day there will be a wholesome, Girl Next Door Renaissance.

Those were the days - when natural was pretty, what your boobs actually looked like remained a mystery and fifteen year old hostesses looked like fifteen year old hostesses, not Heidi fucking Klum.

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Here's Me on My Soapbox

The "Older Than You Are" thing only lasts so long, then it becomes the "Younger Than You Are" thing. Neither of which is very beneficial.

We parade out late teen / early twenties actors to play 14, 15 and 16-year-olds and then wonder why our kids want to grow up so fast. Only then, we turn around and cast 30-year-olds as the twentysomething inhabitants of shows like Friends.

Here's a novel idea: Why not give people an honest portrayal of age for once?

Don't rush the 15-year-old supermodel onto the stage in the latest from Gucci.

Cast 16-year-olds to play 16-year-olds and 27-year-olds to play 27-year-olds for that matter too.

Stop trying to accelerate childhood only to slow down aging.

Life is a marathon, not a sprint and 19 is still going to be there, even when you're 16 and it seems so far away.

And when you're 37, understand that 19 was a long time ago, so stop stealing your daughter's clothes!

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