I'm not quite old enough yet to be glad that people often think I'm younger. It doesn't matter much at a family party, but it's a different matter when it comes to work. I recently was sent interstate to attend a symposium. Heh, I have so much trouble writing the word 'symposium' without inverted commas, and have been pronouncing it so whenever I talk about it. I wasn't going to be speaking formally, but was aware that I was representing my organisation and ought to make some attempt to
When I got to the venue in the morning - Parliament House, no less - I went first to put my hair up. It had still been damp when I left the hotel, and I wanted to look a bit more professional and less student/hippy. But as soon as I pulled my hair back from my face, I resembled a walking corpse. The shadows beneath my eyes leapt out to become deep dark hollows. No, I hadn't slept too well the night before. I stood there before the mirror deliberating (painfully slowly, with my usual pre-9am speed of thought) and finally came out on the side of looking a bit young and unkempt, rather than undead.
Then I was too honest at lunch. I admitted to my nearby table mates, who were all a bit on the quiet side (I really picked the wrong table for my networking ability level) as I headed off before everyone else left, that I was going shopping, not racing back to the airport or to another meeting. Such a go-getter.