Peter: I mean, don’t you ever get tired of being treated like a kid?
Edmund: We are kids!
Peter: Well I wasn’t always.
– Prince Caspian
Fiancee and I are walking from our car to the grocery store to buy some popcorn when a man approaches us looking to sell something. Fiancee politely declines, but the man persists. Looking at me, he then says:
“Is this your little sister?”
I clutch fiancee’s arm and hiss “Hold me back” as we walking away, leaving the man behind.
I have never been a tall person, and I’ve always had a childlike face and body, at least until recently. Within the last two years, I’ve managed to fill out a bit, and I thought my face had changed too, after a stint in braces and forcing myself to buy big girl glasses – you know, sensible frames. (Except my last pair of said frames may have broken and though I went with a similar design, they might, just might, be red. But is that really so bad?)
Basically, I thought my time had come. I’m in my mid-20s. I’m engaged. I’ve finished college. I have a sort of professional job. I thought I had outgrown this shit!
Being short is annoying enough. Pants are never the right length. I can’t reach shit. I even wear a US women’s size 5 in shoes. But being asked if you’re your fiancee’s younger sister, when you are, you know, engaged to that person, AND a year and a half OLDER than them? That’s just insulting.
I tried for a long time to “dress the part,” but let’s face it; I’m not going to wear business casual to buy popcorn at Safeway. I can’t deny my love for cute things either, and my purple, glittery Hello Kitty purse goes everywhere with me. And, to a point, being short is a part of my identity. It’s not like I can change it anyway, so I might as well embrace it.
But this “little sister” thing is driving me up a wall. Tons of people have told me I’ll appreciate looking young when I’m older, but, on one hand, I am obviously not there yet. On another, fuck you and your youth-obsessed cultural brainwashing. I mean. No. That’s what I mean.
I definitely have an adult life. I work (eventually even full time, hopefully); I pay bills; I live with the man I’m engaged to, 3000+ miles from my parents; my life is dull and uneventful, and I’m okay with that. I am definitely an adult; I just wish I could be treated like one without having to show ID.