I can remember as a teenager the desperation to look and be older: Hair (big), make-up (ridiculous), high heels (painful and unsteady). A combination of details that only served to make me look less mature.
Gertie, at three-and-a-half, is experiencing this same painful desire a decade too early as far as I am concerned. Here's tonight's conversation in the car on the way home from nursery:
Her: Mum, I look like I'm four, don't I?
Me: Um...I suppose that you could pass for four.
Her: Some people might even think that I was four, mightn't they?
Me: Yes, they might.
Her: (Sadly) The nursery people know that I'm not four though, don't they?
Me: Well, they do. They know you very well. They know when your birthday is, so they know that you're not four yet.
Her: (Brightly) But people who don't know when my birthday is could think that I was four!
Me: Well yes, they could.
Her: So what else would make them think that I was four?
Me: Well...I suppose it might be the way you behave. The better you are, the more likely people are to think that you are four.
Her: I'm going to be really, really good. Always. Like I'm four.
I know, it was a little naughty, but irresistible...