Time is linear, right? We’re born, we learn about our fear of scraping and we obtain just enough wrinkles to get into a nightclub without flashing ID (which poses the next question; who is still going to a nightclub after a certain age?).
This applies to everyone in the entire world –except for one Tyrolin Puxty. Maybe I’m melodramatic, but it’s time I announced to the world that I am ageing backwards. Don’t cry for me; I’ve accepted my fate.
Let’s peruse my case and look at the myriad of occasions I was mistaken for an adult:
– 2004 State Age Netball, Age 12 –I had to prove my age with a birth certificate. Why? They assumed that the totally awesome shooter (ahh, the glory days) was a 17 year old dragged in from an older team;
– 2004, Age 12 – an uppity History teacher demanded I leave the Year 7 area and get back to the Year 10 section where I belonged;
– 2003, Age 11 – The worst incident was when I was modelling for a casting agency. The photographer was 20 and he asked me out on a date. In horror, I declared my age and he responded; “oh, thought you were 16.” Rather than fearing the repercussions of hitting on a minor, he told me to call him in five years. Queenslanders, eh?
So there you have it. The twelve year old adult. You’d think that maybe I’d just keep ageing prematurely and by the age of 22 have grey hair and tell whippersnappers stories that happened “back in MY day”. But, no. Amazingly, the opposite is happening, presumably to make up for the lost youth I evidently missed.
Here are some examples of being mistaken for a teeny-bopper in my twenties:
– Offered a discount at movie theatres, PCYC and other clubs under the impression I hadn’t hit 18 yet;
– Asked to leave a casino on my big song nomination night in Sydney;
– Asked what subjects I’m doing for my HSC this year
So why is this happening? Am I going to continue ageing backwards until I return to my foetal state? I doubt it, but anything’s possible.
I’m not a drinker (check the link to see if you need to drop a glass size) and I don’t wear a lot of make-up. Does this mean anything? Some sources say yes, others digress. It could be genetic or it could be that every person I’ve encountered has prosopagnosia.
Whether that has anything to do with it or not, there’s nothing stopping an overnight depletion in my youth, to the extent where I may be reliving my pre-pubescent days and asked to return to a retirement home in my 30’s.
Either way, if ageing backwards is a guaranteed way to capture Brad Pitt’s attention, how can you go wrong?