Well, I was six. Once.

This week in Sunday school it was kind of a mad house. Six kids. Five of them were boys. Two of them were age 3. All of them had their levels cranked to 11.

When I finally got them to sit down and listen to the story, it calmed down a bit. There was question asking and hand-raising and Jackson, age 6, asked his fellow miscreants to raise their hands if they were 6 years old as well.

Naturally, I raised my hand.

Jackson: Miss Laura, you’re not six!
Me: Yeah huh! I am.
Jackson: You’re not!
Me: Then how old am I?
Jackson: Sixteen!
Me: Oh, yeah. I forgot.
Will, also age 6, whom I babysat for last week and I’ve already played this game with: No you’re not, you’re 27!

Dammit. Cover’s been blown.

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