A sequel to Getting More Tale #332: Getting Older Everyday
GETTING MORE TALE #767: Just Older
Unless you’re a teenager buying booze with your fake ID, nobody likes being mistaken for older than they actually are.
When I was in my 30s, people used to think I was in my 20s. I looked younger and I dressed younger because I worked at a Record Store and I could get away with it. I bleached my hair, had piercings, and flashy shirts. I saw people working at hair salons looking like rock stars so I thought the same could work for me in a Record Store. Eventually I had a collection of over 30 flashy shirts. I don’t think my bosses were impressed with my new image, but it was a hit with the ladies.
I loved looking younger than my actual age but all good things come to an end.
After quitting the store I wanted to change my line of work and look more professional. The fancy shirts went into a closet. The pleather pants were saved for Halloween. The hair was toned down. Eventually it started to go grey. My beard turned white and I got fat. It can happen to anyone.
I own the “old man” schtick now, but there is still one thing that I hate. And I do mean hate.
Mrs. LeBrain is a little younger than me (I’m a 1972 model and she’s a 1978), but not by a significant difference. Where she wins is a natural youthful look. People always mistake her for someone much younger. She loves being asked for ID. That kind of thing makes her day. What pisses me off is when people mistake me for her father! And it keeps happening!
I took Jen to the hospital to have some tests done (no worries, all good) and had about an hour to kill. I had an mp3 player loaded up with Kiss. Because Heavy Metal OverloRd had been talking about Hotter Than Hell (a personal favourite and among the first Kiss records I ever owned), I decided to take a nice morning walk while listening to that album. When done I progressed onward to Rock and Roll Over. It was a lovely morning filled with cool summer breezes, trainspotting, and Paul Stanley at his peak.
I got back in good time and soon a nurse called to tell me Jen was all set to go. She led me to her bed, and I saw a big bright smile on her face. It’s the smile that keeps me going every day. “Hi ‘dad’!” she said grinning. I was confused. Did she have a seizure? Was she really mistaking me for her dad?
No, she was playing around. The nurse asked if she wanted them to call “her father” to come and get her. Me being her father! Jesus Murphy….
I hate, hate, hate being mistaken for her father! I didn’t even have my big white beard!
I’ll let it slide because those nurses did a great job as always, but c’mon!
I looked exactly like the guy in the photograph below. I don’t think he looks old enough to be Jen’s dad, do you?
The hat, maybe? The day I took Jen to the hospital I was wearing a Van Halen T-shirt and camo shorts with shoes and socks.
I have since shed the locks; a mixture of “shit brown” (my dad’s words) and grey highlights. I now rock the bald head again, but do I look any younger? I don’t think so.
It’s a game I just can’t win! Though it doesn’t really matter does it? Jen prefers me with less hair, and it’s a lot less work. I was just keeping it long just to have long hair at Sausagefest for once. I enjoyed that (it also kept my neck from getting burned), but long hair doesn’t feel nice in the summer time. It’s time to go back to what feels good!
I have a birthday coming up this week, but I’m not old. Just older!