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Unfiltered Story #296201

, , , | Unfiltered | July 16, 2023

Ever since I can remember, I’ve been mistaken for older than I actually am. I’ve always been tall for my age, and I have a rather serious, mature way of speaking, acting, and dressing. It has led to a few interesting interactions over the years.
Example 1:
I’m fifteen. My dad is cooking something that has beer as one of the ingredients, and guess what he forgot to buy? Note: the legal age for buying alcohol in the Netherlands at this point is 16, it has since been raised to 18.
Dad: “(My Name), go to the store and buy some (Brand) beer, I can’t leave the stove.”
Me: “Dad, I’m fifteen.”
Dad: “They won’t ask, you look old enough, now go!”
My dad won’t take no for an answer, so I go. This store has their policy of carding anyone who looks under 21 plastered on large signs around the cash registers. I kinda hope I get carded, so dad can learn a lesson. Nope. The cashier doesn’t even look at me twice, neither does anyone else in the store, or anyone else ever since whenever I buy alcohol, be they bartender, store clerk, waiter, or whatever. I have never in my life been asked to show my ID when buying alcohol. Not once. Not even after they raised the legal drinking age and started carding everybody under 25.

Example 2:
I’m sixteen at this point. I’m just walking through school when a younger students comes up to me.
Student 1: “Excuse me ma’am, where is (Classroom)?”
Yes, “ma’am”, not even “miss”. I’m flabbergasted, but luckily his friend is less clueless.
Student 2: “Dude, that’s a student, not a teacher.”
Student 1: “Really? But…”
Thankfully his friend drags him away before he can finish that statement.

Example 3:
I’m seventeen and volunteering at an event for kids. A group of ten-year olds asks me how old I am. I make the mistake of turning the question around.
Me: “Well, how old do you think I am?”
Kid (with complete confidence): “Thirty! Or thirty-five!”
Me: “Actually, I’m seventeen.”
Their eyes went wide as saucers.

Example 3 (my favourite):
I’m 3 months shy of my twentieth birthday. My dad is turning 65 and has decided to throw a huge party, inviting lots of friends and family. Some of these live far away, meaning we don’t see them very often. Like my second-oldest cousing with her husband and kids. Her youngest is about five or six and painfully shy. It’s an effort for him to shuffle up to my dad and wish him a happy birthday. Unfortunately for him, Dutch tradition dictates he also congratulates my dad’s closest relatives, inculding me (yes, I know this is a very weird tradition, no I don’t know why we do this, it’s just a thing). Little cuz shuffles up to me, shakes my hand and puts his foot in it.
Cousin’s kid: “Happy birthday to your husband.”
I bite my lip not to laugh, I don’t want to make the poor kid feel bad after all.
Me (as gently as I can): “That’s my dad, kiddo.”
Cue little cuz going red as a tomato. Now that he’s older I can reassure him that he may have been the first to mistake me for my dad’s wife, but he was certainly not the last. It happens about once a year nowadays. And no, my dad does not look young for his age. But apparently he does look like the type to marry a much younger woman (he didn’t, my stepmom is a year older than him, and my mother was only two years younger). Either that or I should really start lathering on the anti-aging cream.

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