{ 2008.07.30 }
The girlfriend is nearly 5 years older than me, but most people think that she is about the same age or younger. I think that this is a good thing. She disagrees. But certainly there are distinct advantages to being mistaken for a younger individual once you’ve hit your late twenties and thirties … excessive “carding” notwithstanding. As valid anecdotal proof of this, I thought it prudent to republish the following parable, something I wrote about 3 years ago:
The doorbell at my house is old, but constructed with astonishing precision so that every time it rings it does so with such fervor and resonance it’s little wonder that the adjacent windows don’t shatter instantly. A few days ago I was in the kitchen staring, mouth agape, at the assortment of goods in the pantry, trying to find something to eat, when the doorbell rang. As I wasn’t expecting anyone at the time, I couldn’t shout my usual “It’s open!” but instead had to amble over to the entryway to see who happened to be the perpetrator of the racket. Sometimes I just want to crack the door open, poke my head out, and yell “Who rang that bell?” like the doorman of the Emerald City in the Wizard of Oz, but one never knows how safe that kind of maneuver is. You can crush your head or your nose or smash a finger doing something stupid like that. Instead, neglecting the peephole, I just swung the door wide open.
I was greeted by a short, scruffy looking-man in a plain white T-shirt and jeans. As he was unaccompanied and dressed rather sloppily, I quickly realized that he was neither a Jehovah’s Witness nor a follower of Joseph Smith and Brigham Young. My whole “Sorry, but I’m Jewish” bit would have to wait another day. No, this man was either at my door to rob me at gunpoint or sell me magazine subscriptions, but at first glance I couldn’t tell which. A good friend of mine, who is somewhat irrationally afraid of what she calls “bad guys” – you know, those nameless specters that lurk around every corner – probably would have opted for the former. But I, in my ever-present optimism, chose the latter.
Anticipating how best to turn down this man’s offers, even in the face of sob-stories about drug abuse, starving children in Ethiopia or outright pleading, I quickly scanned my brain for viable excuses. But I was saved by the salesman himself.
“Are your parents home?” he asked.
Since I no longer live with my parents, I really had no idea if they were home or not. Perhaps they were. It was 2:00 in the afternoon on a Saturday, so there was a good chance that they were home. But they were not in my home, and realizing that this is what the man before me had implied, a grin spread across my face as I discovered that the excuse I’d been searching for had been delivered to me on a silver platter.
“No, I’m afraid not.”
“OK, I’ll try back later.” He slowly turned around and walked away.
I guess there are advantages to looking younger than you are.