Sunday, December 31, 2006
Love at first sight
A few days ago I went to the grocery store for routine weekly shopping: mounds of produce, chicken, tamales, pasta, bottled water, raisins, granola, Amy's pizzas, OJ, milk, yogurt, pesto, tortillas and a six-pack of beer. Nothing out of the ordinary, except the kids weren't in tow (a factoid which I suspect is integral to the rest of the story).
I was rummaging through my purse for keys or reading glasses or something when the check-out clerk mumbled something indecipherable.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Are you old enough to buy beer?"
Some sound that might have resembled laughter sputtered from my lips.
"Um, well, I'm forty-five?"
He looked at me with incredulity.
"Are you serious?!"
"I'm afraid so."
Granted, I was wearing what could pass for college uniform of blue jeans, T-shirt and clogs. My grey roots didn't betray me, having fallen victim to a recent home touch-up. Maybe some credit goes to my newly shaped eyebrows, which I'd carefully copied from Oprah's website after reading that every time she has hers done, the tabloids write that she's had a facelift.
Or maybe the poor guy was just having an off day.
I've always looked younger than my age. (When I was in law school, a pre-pubescent boy mistook me for a fellow middle-schooler and asked me to dance.) During my twenties, I was embarrassed each and every time I was carded. But on Friday, it was all I could do not to kiss the cashier.
I was rummaging through my purse for keys or reading glasses or something when the check-out clerk mumbled something indecipherable.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Are you old enough to buy beer?"
Some sound that might have resembled laughter sputtered from my lips.
"Um, well, I'm forty-five?"
He looked at me with incredulity.
"Are you serious?!"
"I'm afraid so."
Granted, I was wearing what could pass for college uniform of blue jeans, T-shirt and clogs. My grey roots didn't betray me, having fallen victim to a recent home touch-up. Maybe some credit goes to my newly shaped eyebrows, which I'd carefully copied from Oprah's website after reading that every time she has hers done, the tabloids write that she's had a facelift.
Or maybe the poor guy was just having an off day.
I've always looked younger than my age. (When I was in law school, a pre-pubescent boy mistook me for a fellow middle-schooler and asked me to dance.) During my twenties, I was embarrassed each and every time I was carded. But on Friday, it was all I could do not to kiss the cashier.
1 Comments:
I got carded last week too -- 41 and it still happens a lot. Must be good genes!
The only thing that drives me nuts as that the same clerks at the same store keep carding me even though they've seen me a hundred times. They tell me that their policy is that they have to card anyone who looks under 30.
I'd be madder on them, except that when I was talking with my son about it afterwards, he said that I still look college-age. I'd rather kiss him than than the clerk. :-)
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