As much as I hate to admit it, yesterday was like most other days; take an unsatisfying shower (not long/hot/saturating enough), pull on clothes from the, not-quite-dirty pile, forget make-up and get out the door. Wearing cargo pants (on their last day in the not-quite-dirty-pile), a wrinkled, linen shirt and running shoes (Ha-Ha!!! When was the last time these show ran anywhere???), brushing my teeth and hair was the extent of my beauty regimen for the day.
I was only stopping in to the health food store to grab a few things for dinner. I placed my firm tofu, Paul Newman pretzels, organic romaine lettuce and bottle of California Chardonnay on the conveyor belt (which charmingly has not worked in six months—customers push or drag their goods down the short, black rubber strip in charade that it is conveying), and waited my turn to pay.
The tattooed and remarkably pierced young cashier scanned my few goods through, then stopped when it came to the bottle of wine.
‘Can I see your I.D.?’ She said
I chuckled a second, then looked at her and realized that she was not sharing my laugh and asked, ‘My I.D.? Really?’
‘Yes,’ she apathetically bit at her nail.
‘Do you ask everyone for their I.D.?’ I pressed her.
‘No,’ she said ripping into her cuticle.
‘Honestly, tell me the truth—are you supposed to ask everyone for I.D.?’ I cajoled.
Now, impatience setting in, she looked at me, ‘No. You looked on the border, so just to be safe, I’m asking.’
The woman behind me, who looked to be about my early forties age, tapped me on the shoulder and said with a knowing nod, ‘Congratulations.’
‘Thanks! I really can’t believe this,’ I said and turned to the cashier, ‘I mean, I am old enough to be your mother!’ I was so proud.
I hunted through my dishevelled wallet, unable to locate my driver’s license.
‘I can’t find my driver’s license, but it doesn’t matter, don’t sell me the wine—you have made my… decade.’
The young woman took pity on my misplaced glee and said, ‘No, it’s okay, you have an honest face.’
I walked out of the health food store and thought, this is the best day ever.
2 comments:
OMG Jenny - that is great!!! As I am staring down the last week of 40-something, I know those days are long gone! LOL
I'm sitting here grinning . . . I know that feeling too. Isn't it wonderful!
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