Today I was mistaken to be 17 years old, albeit mature for my age.
I remember seventeen– almost half my life ago now– as one of the best years of any in my memory. Perhaps on a warm evening that summer I’d wished fervently to stay that way forever. Perhaps it came true.
A more logical conclusion: Those Avon moisturizing day creams with “SPF” my mom has been supplying me with since high school have been laced with pixie dust.