Why yes I am...

Two times in the last month pre-teens have mistaken me for 21 years of age. The first one believed since I was so tall I had to be "like 21", I did not argue this point. I am a hot mix of Olive Oyl and Heidi Klum. The second thought since I have no gray hair I had to be 21. Do I teach/educate/rear (best Bevis/Butthead impression "uhuhuh rear") these children? No I do not, that is the responsibility of their parents. I am not teaching them the chemical compounds that have created the stunningly gorgeous color I claim to be my own (named Cocoa-mel). Nor do I need to explain the ratio of height and age divided by weight and number of teeth. I will and am flying out to California to try out for I-Carly to milk this facade while the getting's good. I'll be the new spunky pre-teen with light issues (Nickelodeon doesn't delve in too deep), such as frizzy hair and ill-proportioned shoulders.