Today at the Franklin Mint, as I pondered multiple credit options, the woman there insisted on looking up my birthday - she did not believe I was almost 30, married and owned a home. Sure enough the 12/17/77 screamed out that I was indeed the age I said and she just stared at me. "My god. I thought you were 21."
I usually get pegged 6 years younger than my age, but 8, practically 9 years? Wow. That's like a decade. After my emotional pre-30 cry the other day (after I wrote my last entry), I'll take the 21 year old compliment.