Last night I was cutting my friend's hair so he could go out for his birthday and he asked if I would join. It was already about 8:30p by time he was leaving and I tried to not go, giving the sad but true excuse that I'm totally lame during the week and my pansy-ass requires that I go to bed at 10:30p during the week. I was already pushing this deadline by the fact that I hadn't eaten dinner, showered, dried my hair or watched 90210 in preparation for my weekly run-down with my cousin (we are so behind on our discussions already!) and I only had 2 hours do such things. There's no way I can go to a bar and be home in time! Sad, right? I sound like a freakin 80 year old, except I'm still capable of holding a hair dryer.
But alas, my friend was very convincing and put his argument in terms that I could not deny, so I got ready and went. I walk in and immediately run into our mutual friend who I begin to walk in with. At this time apparently, one of the other boys (okay, I refer to all males as boys b/c, really. . . aren't they all? No offense, I call all females girls. That's what we are, girls and boys. Period. Yes, I maintain a kindergarten philosophy, but in all fairness, I maintain that level on many aspects of life, not just this one. But this time it's true. I may have failed to mention that the birthday boy was turning 22 and there were quite a number of people there that I really doubted their legal ability to be in such an establishment. Okay, so I'm turning 33 in a week and a half and my perception of youngsters is getting as skewed as all people's do as they grow older). . . Oops, back to the story.
So one of the boys says "Whose that talking to Jake? She looks like a Hot Mom." That's right, a Hot Mom. Now, for most people my age (who actually are moms) this would be a pretty cool compliment. I, however, do not have children. The closest I come to being a mom is my friend's children and my little cousins. But I'm not the Mom-figure. I'm Nee Nee (pronounced Nay Nay, and don't even get me started on the fact that I spell my own nickname wrong. It's my nickname, my choice. Sorry. Sore subject), the cool cousin that the kids freak out over every time they're told my age and it's not early 20's. The one that takes my friend's kids on dates and teases that they're my boyfriend and the greatest date I've ever had (not entirely untrue).
Not that being Hot Mom is an insult. I know in my mind that it was a compliment, but in my heart? Sigh. Oh, how the mighty have fallen. Did you hear that? That was the sound of my pride being stomped upon. I feel like one of the Sex and the City girls being stomped down by the young clubbers in a sadly needed reminder of their actual age. That's what happened to me. So now I have to remind myself that I am in fact mom-aged, and that this was in fact a compliment. It was just a heavy-handed one. I guess the upside is, I can have kids and actually be the Hot Mom!! Hmm, that may not happen for a while. . . .
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