Bye-bye, Oil of Olay.

(I don't really use O of O, by the way. It smells funny.)

Anyway, since I've been on this island, people have generally guessed me older than I am. I think it's because I'm all professional and shit.

I mean, I'm not getting the senior citizen discount or anything. But when it was my birthday last month, people were continually surprised that I was only turning 24. My peers were putting me at 27 or 28. No big deal.

Someone once told me it was because of, "the way you carry yourself at work." Fair enough.

Of course, I still get carded constantly. Reactions vary, depending on the place. But this Chevron... I think older men and women concerned about their appearances as they age, before trying the plastic surgery route, should go to this Chevron and try it out. Study the lighting. See how your reflection looks in the beer cooler. Bat your eyes at the security mirror. Bring dates here. Arrange mature singles events. Mingle over the Combos and Chips Ahoy. Dance beneath the fluorescent lighting.

I shouldn't bogart this magical place, right?

First Chevron incident, a few months ago:

I'm buying smokes, and the cashier is probably 17. I'm wearing surf shorts, a tank top, and my hair is in a ponytail.

I order cigarettes, and he squints at me and askes for ID. I hand it over, and he says, "Wow. I thought you were, like, 15. When you came up to the counter, I though to myself, Dude, she isn't getting cigarettes."

Whatever. I though it was funny, especially since the kid was probably in high school.

And 15? I don't think so.

Last night at Chevron:

I'm in a hurry. Wearing sneakers, cropped blue pants, and a grey shirt with blue and green trim.

After I order, and the clerk (a different one) studies the ID, he yells, "Oh my God! I thought you were a CHILD!"

We had a little chat, and he turned out to be really nice... but I though that was a bit much, too.

Anyway... Ponce De Leon looked all over Florida for the fountain of youth.

I found it, hundreds of years later. Nyah nyah nyah.