On Saturday night, I was out with some friends on Long Street in Cape Town. We decided to visit one of the popular bars which was pretty full, and we noticed that there was a queue at the door. When we got closer, we realised that the back-up was because a bouncer was carding everyone before they could enter. I was the shortest person in the entire crowd, took one look at the burly large man towering over me and said, "I don't have ID. I'm 26 years old. I came with a cab and just brought cash." That was all. No pleases, no convincing, just "Take it or leave it". He took one look at me (or rather, down at me) and let me through the gaggle of much-taller-and-less-clothed-than-me teenagers without any issue. And at that exact moment, I knew I was in my late 20s. It wasn't the grey hairs that have been cropping up all over my head, it wasn't having to deal with taxes or medical aid (which I still very child-like about) - it was a bouncer believing that I was over age... and me not feeling bummed about it. Here's to ageing gracefully!