Each year I've been at BYU, I've managed to pass as a college freshman, a high school visiting student, and even a pre-teen. Each year I age, just like everyone else does. This year I'll be 22. Let me share an experience of mine with an EFY child.
It's a beautiful sunny day outside, and I can't wait to get some vitamin D absorption. Eager for a practice break, I trot off to the Cougareat, where I purchase a delectable barbecue chicken wrap at L&T...one of my favorites. I decide that it would be nice to eat outside, so that I might maximize my break time with the sun. I sit on one of the benches outside the HFAC and the Wilkinson center, and proceed to people watch. EFY kids are always so entertaining. Way too eager to be normal, and constantly showing off. Hey, it's free entertainment for me. I'm not complaining. Suddenly I am approached by an adorable little EFY girl who says, "You look lonely." Really? I didn't think I was necessarily wearing a melancholy expression, but you never know. She sits by me and asks me what group I'm in. Can I tell you how tempted I was to play along? It would have been perfect! Only problem was that I don't know enough about EFY to pretend that I was there. I tell her that I'm a graduate student and suddenly she feels really embarrassed. However, she did tell me that she's starting as a freshman in the music school in the fall and I was able to give her some pointers. After she leaves to spend some time with her EFY comrades, I laugh to myself. Do I really look that young? Then I look down at my shirt. Sure enough, I'm wearing a bright pink Hollister shirt, complete with pink and brown plaid shorts and pink memory foam flip flops. It's my fault. I like pink too much.
This brings another scenario to mind. On the plane flying back from Michigan to SLC (my first venture home) I was fortunate enough to receive a seat switch into the exit row. I was so excited. I NEVER get to sit in the exit row on a plane. It's pretty much like sitting first class. You get so much leg room. Not that I need the leg room...but it's still really nice. When the flight attendant walks by, she explains the customary warnings of sitting in the exit row. Before she leaves, she asks me, "Are you old enough to be sitting in that seat?" Shocked, all I could do was laugh at her...which probably wasn't very nice. I was with the other chamber orchestra members, and I thought it was obvious that I was an adult. And then I looked down at my shirt. It was indeed pink.
So instead of blaming these scenarios on other people, I hereby blame them on my pink shirts. Maybe one day I'll get rid of them. Until then though, I suppose I can take advantage of 12-and-under discounts, kids meals, and special treatment.