Yesterday, we left the state of Maine. Before we could blink and miss New Hampshire, we decided we really did want to stop at the liquor store there (for those of you who don't know, liquor in New Hampshire is very cheap. They don't have taxes. Everyone who lives in New England buys liquor there whenever possible) to buy more rum to feed our dark and stormy addiction. You have to understand that to buy liquor in PA, you have to catch the Hogwarts Express, know how to identify the door of ye olde spirits shoppe, be able to recite the password in five languages, and fork over a week's pay to the man behind the curtain. Thus, I stop at the New Hampshire State Liquor store all the time when I drive to and from office headquarters. They should know me by name in that place, but they don't. Quite obviously.
Yesterday, we split our duties at this pit stop this way: Bob would fill our water bottles at the water fountain while I ran in to get the rum, since I know my way around the store better than he does. It took me no time at all to locate the bottle I wanted from one of the back shelves and bring it to the counter. So there I was. The woman is busy ringing up my rum, and I've just run my credit card through the machine, when she suddenly says,
"Do you have i.d.?"
"You're kidding, right?" I said.
"No," she says, not cracking a smile.
"Just wait till you see how old I am," I say, happily whisking out my driver's licence, unable to believe my good fortune (it's one thing to have half-blind, little old church ladies constantly teasing me about looking like a teenager. It's quite another to have a middle-aged store clerk thinking I might not yet be 21). "You just made my day." Meanwhile, I turned about a hundred shades of red. She probably thought my PA driver's licence was a fake i.d. But she went ahead and sold it to me.
"Glad to make your day," she said, looking about as glad as if she'd just lost her job (this is New England remember).
I lied. She didn't make my day. She made my year! Now, leave me alone. I've got an important date with Seventeen magazine, after which I plan to paint my fingernails day-glo orange and call all my friends to see if anyone wants to hide out in my parents' basement drinking dark and stormies.