Like, when you see that adorable 18-year old guy working the check stand at the store. Wearing a big goofy grin, what you want to say is, "well, aren't you just the cutest little thing?!" But you have to stop and think about that. A grandma could utter such a sentiment without worry-- but we have not yet reached that honorable stage. (The stage where you can get away with a freakin' lot.) Heck, by Hollywood standards we could be the guy's cougar (the fact that we're both married having really no baring on the matter whatsoever-- remember we're talking Hollyweird here). See, we're "Tweeners"-- too young to stop noticing adorableness, but not old enough to verbalize it without getting into a bit-o-trouble.
Or how about this: clothes. What does a 30-something wear? Are we too old to wear a shirt with "Hollister" emblazoned across the chest? Certainly we're not old enough to start wearing knit vests with animals embroidered on them. Too old for the juniors section, not quite ready to head to misses.... What's a Tween (with a capital T!) to do? Are we doomed to be in clothing limbo for the next decade? I mean, when both my daughter and my mother are able to look in my closet and find pieces to their liking, you can imagine the crazy mish-mash that is my wardrobe.
What about the physical side of things? I'm still not too old to set some pretty ambitious goals. But I'm not young enough to actually achieve many of them. Know what I mean? Like, I could try to get back down to my high school size. I've got the energy and know-how to exercise and diet like a maniac. But I'm too old to actually care anymore. So I just sorta dabble in exercise. I'm faithful, but I'm not fanatical. (Besides, my knees crackle when I bend down-- that can't be good.) Frankly, I'd rather just read a book. Better yet-- I'd rather read while eating. Mmmmmm...food. See? My priorities are in conflict!
I think a little sympathy is in order for those of us in our 30s. We are considered "old" by teens and 20-somethings, but are still widdle babies by AARP standards. So throw us a bone, will ya? If we come over wearing our hair in pigtails, a copy of "Pride and Prejudice" in our hands, while discussing potty-training one minute and asking about the new downtown dancing hotspot the next-- just roll with it. We're in our Tweens, after all.