Next time please, save us both. Just ask me what I do.

So I joined the Queenz of Comedy for their premier show last week. It was terrifying, it was invigorating and for a few moments while some mean chaps were heckling me-it was embarrassing. Anyway, I survived.

So after the show was over, this female journalist from-no, let me leave the paper out-comes up to me.

“So what’s your name?”

I gave it.

“So is stand up comedy something you plan to do regularly now?”

“Well, yeah definitely!” Fingers crossed.

She then whipped out her note pad.

“So, which class are you in?”

There is no way you can misinterpret that question. Absolutely no way. I wanted to make sure I’d heard her right.

“What do you mean, which class I’m in? Like,exactly?”, I inquired.

“Well, are you on campus or…” Oh, I could see the word ‘Vac’ hovering over her lips. When I told her my age, she first gasped, said ‘what, really etc’, and then simply walked off.

In retrospect, I was in a good mood that night. I felt insulted, and was actually downright pissed.

On the positive side, maybe when I’m 50, I’ll look 28.

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