a tick for the flattering tally? uk version.
as i made my way to the modern papers room at the new bodleian this morning, i was fairly confident that i was "passing" successfully. i was banking on the after-effects of an evening spent with G at her inlaws' house off of cowley road (i was tickled to find out that the bassist from radiohead lived just around the corner) -- somehow i *must have absorbed some of that excess authentic englishness that was randomly floating about! this spongy absorption, coupled with the fact that i was tricked out in flash duds procured during a brief shopping break in the high street, made me me feel not exceptional, but rather like just another reader, off to spend just another day at the library.
i contemplatively made my way toward the new bod, my stride bouncing along in time to the scissor sisters' "i don't feel like dancin'", when all of a sudden i was accosted by a guy, waving what looked like a guide book. "ooooooh," i thought, "here's proof of my successful passing. he's gonna ask me for directions." i smiled and pulled the headphones out of my ears.
guy: excuse me, miss.
me [smiling like an idiot]: yes? [internal dialogue: "he's gonna ask for directions ... just like that time in new york city, visiting L, when that guy stopped me by washington square park and asked the way to the financial district!"]
guy: you're here for open days oxford, right? here's a guide with a map and a brochure about undergraduate admissions.
me [shocked]: i'm not an applicant.
guy: oh. sorry. bye then.
even with the absorbed englishness, the new duds (they're seriously bitchin' jeans, if i do say so myself) & the freckles that have been fading due to lack of sun and balmy weather, i still can't pass for older than 18. i know, i know -- i can hear the echoes of the voices of several friends -- i should be flattered. on a certain level i am, i will freely admit, but on another level the fact that this seemingly endless youthfulness is valid worldwide is a little frustrating.
i contemplatively made my way toward the new bod, my stride bouncing along in time to the scissor sisters' "i don't feel like dancin'", when all of a sudden i was accosted by a guy, waving what looked like a guide book. "ooooooh," i thought, "here's proof of my successful passing. he's gonna ask me for directions." i smiled and pulled the headphones out of my ears.
guy: excuse me, miss.
me [smiling like an idiot]: yes? [internal dialogue: "he's gonna ask for directions ... just like that time in new york city, visiting L, when that guy stopped me by washington square park and asked the way to the financial district!"]
guy: you're here for open days oxford, right? here's a guide with a map and a brochure about undergraduate admissions.
me [shocked]: i'm not an applicant.
guy: oh. sorry. bye then.
even with the absorbed englishness, the new duds (they're seriously bitchin' jeans, if i do say so myself) & the freckles that have been fading due to lack of sun and balmy weather, i still can't pass for older than 18. i know, i know -- i can hear the echoes of the voices of several friends -- i should be flattered. on a certain level i am, i will freely admit, but on another level the fact that this seemingly endless youthfulness is valid worldwide is a little frustrating.
posted by Amanda Bonner at 11:25 a.m.
2 Comments:
Oh, how so alike are we!
(though the syntax is interrogative, it's an indicative statement, or possibly exclamatory).
People always say "you'll be thankfull for looking so young when you're older"
To that I say "eff-off." :)
Miss you!
I instinctively *knew you'd understand.
Okay, fine flatter, yes, yes.
But FRUSTRATING. Frustrating in the same way that people taking my round-cheekedness and friendly smile as indicative of some sort of spinelessness (a baby face does NOT mean I'm a doormat!) and naiveté about how the world works.
Grrrrr.
*sigh*
Miss you too, luv.
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