This weekend I went on a little adventure to Tucson, Arizona to help do support for a team of cyclists competing in a 24 hour race.
It involved driving down to Tucson, camping, eating lots of junk food, eating lots of delicious food, warm sun, cold nights, smokey fires, cacti, lots of bikes, helmets, bikers, trails, hippies, shovels, tents, sleeping bags, several sweatshirts, shorts, flashlights, headlamps, Red Vines, Monsters, Port-a-potties, sandals, running shoes, running, socks, a little sunburn, lots of energy, lots of fatigue, cards, books, water, an RV, a trailer, two trucks, riding bikes, racing bikes, night rides, pulling cacti out of people, no showers, lots of wrong turns, and lots of fun. We drove down on Thursday and got there Thursday night, settled in on Friday, and the race started at noon on Saturday and went until noon on Sunday. So much fun. On Sunday we packed up everything and took off around 1:30. We booked it back to Tucson to try and catch our flight back to Salt Lake and discovered upon trying to check in that we had missed it because of some confusion along the way. So, another night spent in Tucson with early flights this morning coming back. We finally got to shower and slipped some decent sleep into the mix. (Happy Belated Saint Valentine's Day, by the way.)
So, Monday, President's Day, we arrived early for our 7:00 flight, made it through security (with liquids, but without the required quart sized baggy, and with a hefty bike lock, a metal knee, and several other items we were a little surprised to get through) and waited patiently at our gate. We got on, and two of us (out of three) were in the exit row. So, we're sitting there, and the plane is preparing to take off and the flight attendant comes by and looks at me and says,
"What do we got here?"
I, in my confusion, simply look up at her and wait for something more. She finally says (something to the effect of), "Do you even qualify to sit here?" (effectively: Are you even old enough to sit here? You know you have to at least be 15 years old...)
I laugh out a "Yeah..."
She says, "Can you lift that door?" (I think I should maybe point out at this point, since I failed to do so earlier, that this woman was a fairly good size black lady with a great southern accent.)
I respond (somewhat indignantly), "Yeah!" (like, duh.)
She looks me up and down a bit and says "Ok" and then continues with the rest of her instructions.
I'm fairly certain she was just pushing my buttons, giving me a hard time, but I had to wonder if I looked younger than usual today. A mild burn/tan on my face, sort of messy hair pulled back with a head band, jeans, a t-shirt/sweatshirt. Although, in my opinion my hand being held by the guy next to me should have been a slight tip off that I wasn't that young. It wasn't a child/adult hand hold. There may have been interlocking digits. I mean, really?
Anyway, no biggie. Haha, lots of laughs. I look so young. Right.
We arrive in Phoneix and move to our next gate to wait out our layover. Happens to be next to a Cinnabon so I couldn't help but want to go and grab one. I run over with my wallet in hand and wait patiently until the clerk can help me. I ask for my Cinnabon, she tells me the price, I hand her my credit card. She looks at it for a little while (just past the normal amount), looks at me, and runs it through. She doesn't ask for ID, but as she hands it back she says "Is this you, or your mama?"
Really? I respond, "It's me," with just a hint of laughter in my voice, but in my head I was thinking, "Really? Really? How young do I look to you? What is it with today?"
The second flight went smoothly and we made it back just fine. No more incidents of mistaken age. Still lots of fun. Still good times.
I'm happy to have the face I have, but I do have to wonder sometimes if I simply look younger, or other people are just getting worse at guessing age. Either way, I'll take it. I've been told it will be a good thing as the years go by...
So, Happy Look-Younger-Than-A-15-year-old Day.