Passing as a teenager yet again

The other day, I was walking home from the library.  I had my red backpack on, full of new media.  My pants were probably partially saggy; I was wearing skate shoes, as usual.  As I mentioned last week, I’ve been in a pretty low mood, so I’m sure I was slouching quite a bit, probably staring at the ground as I went.  I was crossing the street to get to my side street before I realized some teenaged girls on a porch were yelling to me.

“Hey!  Yeah, you.”
“Me?”
“Yeah!  What’s your name?”
“[I said my name.]”
“JC?”
“No.  [Said my name again.]”
“JT?”
“Yeah.  [Still not my name, but realized it didn’t really matter.]”
“Nice to meet you!”

I kind of did a little wave and kept walking, worrying I was going to start running into them a lot since this was pretty close to my house.  This isn’t a direct account of an instance where I passed as male, but I’m pretttty sure teen girls wouldn’t have been so adamantly yelling if they saw me as, basically, a female-bodied person in their early thirties.  So I’m going to count it!