IT'S NOT POLITE TO ASK A WOMAN HER AGE...

Isn’t that what we were taught as children? My mother certainly drummed that into my head at an early age. I was so diligent in this that I learned to never ask anyone their age. No one, no matter what. I didn’t want to be rude. At least until I had a child of my own and began interviewing babysitters. One of the few times in which it is acceptable to ask a woman her age. I’m sure there are others as well, but my brain is not firing on all cylinders at the moment as I am simultaneously tracking the COVID-19 crisis while writing this post. We are currently at the beginning of what may be the worst few weeks in our battle against the COVID. Which is the reason for my long hiatus in posts. I have been experiencing a lull in my creativity stockpile and simply haven’t had the humor to write about the trials and tribulations of the Girls Wilson. But I think the lull has passed and I am BACK!

To get back to the story, when my daughter turned six she suddenly became VERY interested in my age. Because of my upbringing, I was SHOCKED that she would be so impolite in asking my age. Hadn’t her mother ever taught her…oh, right, I’m her mother. I need to teach her that this is not appropriate. I explained that it is rude to ask a woman her age. There. She replied: “But why?” Me: Well, because, it’s not polite. 6: It isn’t? Why not? You know my age. Me: Well yes, that’s true, I do know your age, but that’s because I’m your mother. 6: Lots of people know my age. All my friends at school, my teacher, I mean anyone who asks knows my age because I tell them. I don’t think it’s rude when people ask me my age. Why do you? Me: it’s complicated, (right about this point I am realizing what an easy going child I must have been. My mother told me it was rude, that was enough, I never asked why. I accepted it as fact. It’s rude, don’t ask. Ok! Now I wish I pressed on because I don’t know why it’s rude and can’t continue this back and forth much longer) it’s just rude to ask a woman her age after a certain age. 6: What age? Me: Oh I don’t know, I think after age 30. Before that, it’s fun to tell your age, but then it doesn’t seem so fun anymore. 6: Why not? Me: Oh, I don’t know. I think it was Greta Garbo that said it was rude and we all agreed. Let’s stop talking about it. 6: Okay. (long pause)…So does that mean you’re older than 30? Me: Honey, do you want to get some ice cream? 6: Yes! Me: Thank GAWD…

This scenario repeats itself multiple times over the years and I finally stop to wonder why I don’t want to talk about my age to my daughter. Besides the fact that her grandmother taught me that it was impolite. First off, my daughter tells everyone EVERYTHING I tell her. Is there a reason I don’t want people to know my age? Honestly, I think I’ve aged okay, not great, but not bad either. So what’s my issue? I think part of it is the fact that I had my child so late in life, so I have at least 10 if not 15 years on the rest of the mom’s of the kids at my daughters school. It’s tricky enough being the single mom, now I have to be the single, OLD mom? I’d rather not.

But what else? I realize that as an actress, I don’t want to get aged out of a role because someone knows my age. It’s fine if I look too old for a part, I just don’t want the number tattooed on my forehead.

BUT MY DAUGHTER WON’T STOP ASKING ME FOR MY AGE. So in a not so proud moment, I decided to give her an age. Not my age, just an age. I said: if I tell you an age, (see what I did there?) will you stop asking? 8: (notice she went from “6” to “8” because this went on for years) Yes, mommy, I promise! Me: (oh dear, I can’t believe I’m going to do this, she seems so excited that i’m finally going to tell her) Fine, 37. 8: Really? That’s great. I think Lucy’s mom is the same age. Me: (yes, she probably is, but that’s probably her actual age, as opposed to mine) Oh that’s neat. I kind of thought we looked about the same age. Okay honey no more talking about age.

Next day. 8: Mommy, I asked Deirdre how old she was and she said she’s the same age as you. But she’s not. She’s 50! I told her she’s MUCH older than you. Me: (good GAWD) Oh really honey? Well Deirdre looks great for her age. And remember, we’re not supposed to ask women their age, so please let’s stop asking people their age. Okay? 8: Okay, sorry Mommy.

Next week. 8: Mommy, did you know that you are only 2 years older than my babysitter? Me: Really? Isn’t that funny? Let’s go get some ice cream! 8: Yay!

Six months later, my daughter is now 9 years old and she seems to have lost interest in my age. We can finally put this to rest.

Beads of sweat trickle…

February vacation. We are at the Museum of Science and we’re measuring our ears. I’m a little nervous because my daughter has quite large ears and so far she hasn’t notice this and I don’t want her to realize it. They are EXQUISITE. They stick out and turn up just a bit. When she wears her hair up she looks like a little pixie and there is something so beautifully endearing about her look. She measured her ears, and then it was my turn. I had to complete a few questions to begin. Male/female, age…oh sh*t, here we go. I froze as the screen blinks AGE:___. There were dozens of moms behind me, waiting for me to finish so they could do the same with their kids. They are staring at me like “WTF lady, what’s the hold up? Can’t you see this line of frustrated people behind you? It’s February vacation for Pete’s sake! Get moving! Just type your AGE!” I hesitate because they can see what I’m typing and they are all staring at the screen and then to me and then the screen. But my daughter is also staring at me and the screen, and then the people behind us. She finally says; “Mommy, type in your age, everyone’s waiting.” Ugh! I start to type 37, I type the 3, then turn around again and see that the mom’s are all in the 30-40 range and they all look at LEAST a decade younger than me. I start to panic because they are going to know I’m lying if I type 37. And why would ANYONE lie about their age on an ear test at the Museum of Science? I can feel myself start to sweat. Oh F*ck it, I type an 8 next to the 3. There, 38. Are you all happy? I figured 38 is at least closer to 40, right? And I have to get older, I can’t be 37 forever. I measure my ear and get the size on the screen. It is the EXACT same length as my daughters. Oh no, she’s going to realize that her 9 year old ear is the EXACT same size as her adult, old (fake young) Mommy’s ear length. 9: Look Mommy! We have the same exact size ears! That’s funny. Your ears are as small as a 9 year olds ears. But don’t feel bad because your ears are so small, I think they are perfect. (My heart)

That night. Me: Goodnight baby, I love you. 9: Goodnight Mommy. (long pause). Mommy? Me: Yes luv? 9: Why did you lie about your age at the Museum today? You wrote your age as 38, but you’re 37…