The Grim Reaper age estimator consistently assesses me as ten years younger. I could pretend that student life keeps me fresh and hip, but we all know it’s the hopping, the hopping, the incessant hopping that makes me look like a goofy kid.
Can you guess a stranger’s age? I’m woefully inaccurate, unless I perceive the stranger to be objectionably dressed or groomed, in which case my ability spikes eerily. Odd.
Are you a sweet widdle baby on Jupiter?
The graphic representing the sudden and astonishing popularity of my first name (which, N.B., is not Elsa) will crush you all!* See how popular your name has been over the decades, at The Baby Name Wizard.
*When I was 17 and working in retail, I was routinely assaulted by chastizing maternal voices scolding me. “[Elsa], put that down!” Each time, I would spin around, startled by the vehemence of her order, only to find it was yet another mother speaking (of course) to her five-year-old daughter.
A couple of years ago in a college classroom, I was musing over the popularity of the same name for the 18-year-olds sitting around me; it was not uncommon to have three or four of us in a 50-person class. Then I was truck by a jolting realization: these 18-year-olds were the same generation as the five-year-olds. I’m the one who’s fifteen years late.