Wednesday, October 12, 2011

I Have TOTALLY Misrepresented Myself!

Yesterday afternoon, I got carded when I bought this:

You know that picture of myself over there to the right, the one of me looking totally glamorous, no glasses, lots of pretty makeup, you know - the one of me in blue? Well, um, it's kind of old. Like really old. Okay, so I'm going to admit it. That picture was taken when I was 27 years old. It's the best picture I have of myself, so you can kind of see my dilemma, right? Would you rather look at the 27 year old me or the 47 year old me? If you want to see the real me, just go down to the bottom right hand side of the page and look at the "about me" section. There I am, all 47 years of me, hugging my big, stupid dog.

Yesterday, I had stopped by the local pharmacy to pick up some prescriptions (the dog's Prozac among them) and it's right next door to the ABC store. For those of you not from Virginia, an ABC store is where they keep the booze.

I remembered that morning I had taken an empty bottle of whatever that stuff is in the picture out to the recycle, so I texted Justin real quick with, "Do you need more booze?" To which he replied, "yes," and then we spent about fifteen minutes on the phone while he tried to talk me through the liquor store to find his poison of choice. There were lots of, "I'm right by the Bacardis" and "You mean my other left?" and "What exactly is this stuff I'm buying?" before I finally happened upon the right bottle. I don't think it's that Justin's particularly particular about what he drinks; it's just that he really likes this brand of whatever. (If anyone at Seagram's would like to pay me for the free advertisement, I'm totally cool with that. My email's right there above the "real" me on the side.)

Anyway, so I take this bottle of Seagrams stuff up to the counter, where two guys who looked to be around 40 or maybe a little older were standing around. Clearly, they had been back in the back, sampling their own stock, because the guy behind the cash register said, "May I see your ID?"

After I stopped laughing, I told him "Sure! And thank you!" There then entailed a fairly lively discussion between me and the two guys that went something like this:

Me: I can't believe you carded me. You just made my whole week.

Cash Register Guy: You don't look that old.

Guy Hanging Out by Cash Register: Well, we have to card anyone under 30.

Me: I haven't been under 30 in a long time. (Wiping tears because I'm laughing so hard)

Guy Hanging Out: You don't look like you're over 30.

Me: (Unable to keep a thought in my head) I'm actually 47!

Cash Register Guy: I know, right? I'm a year older and I still get carded.

Me: You don't look like you're 48. (He really didn't, but I would have so not carded him if the situation was reversed.)

So, I don't know if Cash Register Guy was a little slow on the uptake or in training or what, because he had to have Guy Hanging Out go back and get the stock number off the shelf for him because he couldn't seem to get my booze rung up. Maybe they'd had a little too much Seagrams out back before I got there. Maybe they had a blender in the store room and were mixing up margeritas. (If so, I got there too late.) Maybe they were flirting, but I had a hard time buying that one, no matter how much I wanted to delude myself. After all, I was recovering from a fairly severe disagreement with some eye makeup and not only was I not wearing any, my eyes were still swollen and it looked like I'd gone a couple of rounds with Frieda Foreman. And I lost.

I would say that getting carded was definitely the highlight of my day yesterday. Maybe of my entire week, since I am sitting here at 10 am in my pajamas, with eyes that are still itchy and a throat raw from an intense goldenrod allergy, watching the dog lying in the drizzling rain and trying to figure out why he doesn't seem to understand that periodically, water falls from the sky. He still looks surprised when the drops hit his nose and he's 16 months old. (Aren't retrievers supposed to be smart? Okay, in some ways, he's brilliant, but in other ways, he's dumb as a bag of rocks.)

I think I am probably going to have to go back to the liquor store tomorrow, because we have guests coming (see Monday's post about over-cleaning) on Friday and I know Justin likes to share the warmth. In fact, he turned all of our friends in New York on to this stuff the first time we went up there and it's now the drink of choice when they want to get hammered. Or just watch some football.

Anyway...I have a feeling I'm going to back over at that store and now I know where they keep the Seagrams 7 Dark Honey, um, whisky? Bourbon? Can you tell I'm not a drinker? Seriously, when I drink, I usually end up sleeping on the bathroom floor with my head in the toilet, too sick to care about what kind of germs you get when you have to plant both hands on the outside of the bowl while you heave up your insides all night. It happened a couple of times until I made the connection. You'd really think I'm a blonde, as hard as it is for me to put these things together. Aren't those what they call "blonde moments?" And yes, I'm allowed to make blonde jokes because when my mom has hair, it's blonde, and she makes those jokes a lot.

If I go back and they card me again, I'm going to know they're flirting. I'll just sign with my left hand so that the wedding rings are clear.

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