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The downsides of looking incredibly underage

So, Carianne and I went shopping in Manhattan on Monday. Carianne's boyfriend's eleven year-old daughter, Pilar also came along. After making several stops in Tribeca and then Soho, we walked into a Halloween costume shop on Broadway.

After browsing around the first floor for a few minutes and discovering what I want to be for Halloween this year (Santa Claus), we found our way into the basement. The lower level consisted of more costumes and some horror-genre props like disembodied hands, feet, and eyeballs. Carianne sat on a bench near the stairs and Pilar and I explored the lower level further.

As I was examining a plastic decapitated head, a woman walked up to us. She had black frizzy hair, glasses, and kind of resembled the woman who takes care of the cats on 30 Rock. She had the air of a self-important hall monitor as she approached us and asked where our parents were.

Pilar and I exchanged raised eyebrows.

"There are some things down here that aren't really kid-friendly," the woman continued. "Are your parents here with you?"

A bit taken aback, I said, "Uhhm.... no?"

"Well," the woman said. "You need to have an adult accompanying you to be down here."

"I kind of am the adult," I said, giving Pilar another sideways glance as if to say, This woman has got to be kidding.

The woman smirked at me in a way that said Aw, shucks, aren't you guys cute? and said, "Okay, well, I'll let that slide for now. So long as you guys act like adults and not little kids."

And, in other news, I turn twenty one on Friday.

July 1, 2009 at 11:38 PM

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