So I’m talking to a friend and workmate the other day, discussing the fact that I’m getting a Harry Potter-themed tattoo next week, and another workmate walks up and asks us what we’re talking about. I tell her because I’m excited about it, and she gets this look on her face. You know the look. The judgmental, sort of disgusted, I’m-about-to-ridicule-you look.
“You do realise that you’re in your 30′s, don’t you?” she says, trying not to smirk.
“So?” I answer, doing my best to hide how deflated and uncomfortable she just made me feel. “What does that matter?”
I say this aloud. But my thoughts, going over it in my head later? (Because of course I’m still fretting about it later. Stupid brain.)
*exasperated sigh* “Muggle.”
Funnily enough, it makes me feel better.