Twenty-four

The other day I heard a review of Jaguar's T.V. commercial on NPR. (National Public Radio). Now I'm not sure why the person was reviewing a commercial, or if his job is actually to pick some form of advertising and hate on it every week, but nevertheless there it was: 7 minutes of hating on a Jaguar commercial.

This post, typically, has nothing to do with the commercial or the review.

What it does have to do with is this particular reviewers obsession with other people's obsessions with 24 year old women.

For the entire 7 minutes of Jaguar-picking this reviewer mentioned the existence of 24 year old women in the commercial maybe 20 times. He made even more references to the fact that in real life there are also 24 year old women. (In case we forgot that people live as long as 24 years and some of those people are female.)

Apparently all 24 year old women are beautiful and desirable - as a commodity - and as art.

What I can't figure out is where 24 came from. I'm sure in the commercial it's a bunch of leggy, beautiful women, all young and firm and supple with pert breasts and glowing tans. But when looking at a woman of this description why is it automatically thought that she is 24? Why can't she be 26? Or 21? Or, more probably given the model market, 16? Why is the magic number 24?

And it never changed. The woman wasn't labelled as "possibly 24" or later "around 25" she was always the beautiful, desirable 24 year old...which a man who buys a Jaguar will never get. Ever. 24 was the number, the age for all things gorgeous, all things consumable. 24 is the age to be in order to be gifted with expensive jewels and fancy cars. 24 is the age where a woman can attract a man with a simple look of the eye. 24 is sex. 24 is beauty. 24 is power.

Listening to all the merits of being a 24 year old made my 23 year old self feel woefully unprepared.


My birthday is in less that six months. In less than six months I will cross that line between gawky, self-conscious, ungraceful 23 to the primed, sexy, and confident 24. Apparently 24 is the year when I can use all these "womanly" charms that, heretofore, haven't done me a lick of good (besides mess up my equilibrium) to bait and hook my sugar daddy. In little less than half a year I will be able to get into any door, receive any gift and sleep with any tall, dark and handsome Cabana boy I want - or don't want. This is coming up! 24 is almost here...I'm almost to the point where all these hips and boobs and hormones pay off. I'm almost about to be enveloped in the leathery arms of my pretty new Jaguar...

So why don't I feel any different? Is this 24 thing gradual? Does it just happen all at once on the stroke of midnight? Poof! I'm no longer a pumpkin? Do I have to gear up for it? Should I be wearing anything special or do the fancy dresses and the matching purse come along with the new poise and je nais se quoi?

More importantly do I need to wash my hair?

What really frightens me about this whole ugly duckling thing about to take place is that it's not actually a spontaneous thing. Instead of being like year 20 to year 21 where at the stroke of midnight you were allowed to walk into bars and clubs previously barred and really belong there; year 23 to year 24 is more like April 15th.

It's a deadline. More than that...it's an exam. And one that I wasn't prepared for...shoot...I don't even have a Number 2 pencil anymore!

I must have missed a memo. I missed that day in class. I didn't know I was supposed to be so perfect so soon. I thought the milestones were finally behind me. 13, 16, 18, 21...I finished them all. I could sneak up on July 11 without any pressure. Slip quietly from 21 to 22. Coast my way through my 20's and save all my anxiety for when I turned 30 and realized I'm old, childless and my boobs sag.

I'm ready for the sagging boobs.

I'm not ready for the perky ones. Why wasn't I told that I had to do this whole "Wow she's gorgeous" thing? How am I supposed to show people I'm 24 now and not 23? Am I gonna have to walk down the stairs in a ball gown and gloves while I smile just right to make everyone gasp? Am I gonna have to go down the stairs in heels? Am I going to have to do it without falling?

If so I'm gonna need a little training. Six months is not enough time to prepare myself. I walk into things! I fall down! Sometimes I even line my eyes crooked! How am I supposed to turn 24 if my eyeliner is crooked? Will anyone notice?

Is this some dirty little secret that older women don't tell? Like when they say childbirth is the most beautiful experience in life. Yeah - like I believe that one. Is this a conspiracy to see if us youngins' are really ready for womanhood? Oh sure we have the periods, the cramps, the fluctuating emotions. We got all that now...but are we ready to have all of it in slinky gold dresses and razor thing three inch heels?

I'M NOT!!! And frankly I resent being told that I have to be.

I dunno where Mr. NPR reviewer guy got the idea that 24 is the ideal age...but consider this my official request for an extension. I refuse to be perfect until at least age 25.

And that's final!