Grown up

I've spent a lot of time with other people's children this week. Most of my friends in Birmingham are "settled down," mostly with kids. The other day the four-year-old daughter of my great high school friend and cousin (second, once removed, because we know these things in Alabama) asked me, "Are you grown up?"

I was both flattered and bemused. I know I am fun. I know I look younger than I am. And I know I am super good at playing princesses. No wonder she was confused.

I did not say, "define grown up," or any other self-deprecating thing. I did not question my grown up status, which I might have done even a couple of years ago. Because I am grown up. For reals. Even though I don't have a house, or a kid, or a bathtub in which to use the bath beads her mother gave me for Christmas.

(And dear, dear high school friend and cousin, if you're reading this, the bath beads are lovely. I will use them at my parents' house or as soon as I get an apartment that has a bathtub. I seriously love baths. I love bath beads. Bath beads are awesome, and much nicer than the little notebook I gave you because we don't see each other often enough to know what to give each other for Christmas. Such is life.)

Anyway, when this little girl asked, "are you grown up?" I didn't even think about my answer (which I might have done even a couple of years ago). I said, "yes, I'm very grown up. I'm older than your mommy."

Then she found out that me and her dad are the same age and asked if that meant we were twins. So, maybe I was wrong to feel flattered.

Bemused was just right.