Why I don't Tell People my Age

Really, I don't care about how old I am. I don't care about how old I look. This may be because I don't look older than I am, it may not. That being said, I don't have a problem with my age, or telling people, but I don't offer that information without being asked.

Today was an example of why. My students asked me if I had kids. Nope. How old was I? 29. Do I have a husband? Nope. No husband. Will I be married next year? Nope, no boyfriend. Why?!

They asked why.

I shrugged and said "No one has asked."

An older gentleman in my class took off his class ring and offered it to me. I laughed. Everyone laughed.

I hate giving my age. Because when you're 29 and single people want to know why. And if I had an answer to that which didn't rip out my heart with a spoon, I would give it.

And change it.

Ah well. 30, you're just around the bend, and then people will hear my age and think I must be a freak that no one married me. So, I think I'll just enjoy 29 while I have it.

Thinking of a Dream House

Yesterday I taught my gifted students the concept of a dream house. I certainly hope I'm corrupting them propperly. Though I'm not even sure that a 'dream' anything is Biblical. It was all girls so I got to use the example of a dream boyfriend, which, being 11, they picked up on quite well. Gotta love the tweens.
My favorite was a girl who designed a room just for her cats. She has 9 russian blues. I also liked the one that had cloud wallpaper.

All of that reminded me of when I was a girl and I would design my own dream house. I remember spending hours designing it. Really, it looked like a fleshed out version of the house my family lived in while we were in Idaho. It had an attic and a basement, garage, two floors, and a multitude of rooms. Why? Because it was a place for a family. Ever since I was a girl. All the way back when I thought my life would play out in this perfect plan, that there would never be any real detours.