The picture of me on my Mastercard is at least twenty years old. It was taken at a black tie event soon after college and it follows then that I look quite glamorous, dashing really. My hair is longer, a bit lighter in the front and, as it was taken in the summer, there is a warm glow radiating from my wrinkle free skin. It looks nothing like me.
About once a week I stop at the corner market. The same woman is there behind the counter every single time, as she has been for the six years that I have been going to her store. She knows me, she knows my children and she knows that I really like Nantucket Nectars Big Cranberry juice, which I always pay for with my Mastercard.
"Is this you?" she asked.
It's not unusual, I am frequently asked to confirm that the dazzling young woman in the picture is actually me. Not generally from someone who has seen my card roughly 200 times but it's possible.
"It is, it's me, it's just an old picture".
She looked again, and back to me once more, "Really? I would have never guessed this was you, never". I smiled back at her.
"Well then I guess now we know that those girls might just grow up and be beautiful".
Now we know.