Don’t call me kid…


Seriously this really bugs me. I hate it when people call me kid.

There’s one simple reason for it…

I AM NOT A DAMNED KID!

I really am not. Hello, I’m a 27-year-old, married mother of two! How much more unkid can you get? I haven’t been a kid for a LONG time. I mean hell I’m coming up on my 10 year high school reunion! TEN YEARS!

I’m not a kid.

Okay, so I don’t look 27. That does NOT mean I’m not 27. I am 27. I was born in 1985. I celebrated my 27th birthday a month and a half ago. I’m verging on my 5 year anniversary with my husband. I HAVE TWO KIDS! (Okay, so now-a-days having kids doesn’t mean anything for age…but I wasn’t a teen mom. I was in my 20’s  when I had the boys)

Why the rant?

Some guy, YOUNGER than me, called me kid. I ignored him. That’s right. I walked right past him and didn’t even bother turning around as he yelled, “HEY KID!”

Why?

Because I’m not a damned kid! I’m on the wrong side of 25 now. I’ll be 30 in 3 years. My husband has done a tour in Iraq.

I’m not a kid.

If you see me in public…don’t say hey kid. I’d be happier with hey you, and I hate that one to. But I prefer it to hey kid.

I am actually OLDER than most of the neurosurg interns that are on my floor. I’M OLDER THAN NEUROSURGEONS. I’m not a kid. If I’m older than a guy who works on brains…I’m not young.

Well…I’m done making myself feel super old. Maybe I’ll go hunt down the dude who called me kid just to hear it again. HA. No really, don’t call me kid. You’ll piss this housewife off so fast that you won’t have time to say uh oh.

K,

Thanks.

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