No more pencils, no more books

I call a local school for a story I'm working on. The woman who I talk to says, "Are you an intern there, is that your senior project?"

I say no. I just sound young.

She says, "Well, one day you'll appreciate it."

I already think it's funny. This is at least the third time I've been mistaken for 18 or under at work. At least this time, it was just on the phone.

(The other two were at a high school journalism banquet the paper I worked for was hosting, when I was actually surrounded by teens. No, I wasn't an intern then, either. I guess they're just that much more stylish than I am.)