This morning I did a taping for a local talk-show to pimp my book. In an attempt to look professional and authoritative and maybe my age, I went and bought an overpriced sharp little blazer. I probably undid any help the blazer might have done me by wearing my braids, but I love my braids and they’re part of the whole "offbeat" package.

While waiting back stage, I got to talking with Norah Vincent, another author who was taping a segment for the show. At one point she looked at me and said, "Can I ask how old you are?"

"Why, because I look like I’m twelve?" I winked.

When I told her I was turning 32 soon, she laughed and said I looked like I was maybe in my mid-20s.

"But I’m wearing a sharp little blazer!" I protested. "…It’s the braids, isn’t it?" She agreed that was it.

Damn.

PS: Norah is on a book tour — you should check her out if she comes to your town.