a whole new level


I have finally reached a level of celebrity that I could only dream of:

being remembered by the liquor store clerk so that he doesn’t even need to card me, even though a few days before, someone thought I was 19.

Now, there are many other reasons for me to be recognized:

But this liquor store encounter truly surprised me:

I walk into local liquor store in search of something to make my Monday better. The heat index was one-gazillion and I was in need of something to quench my tremendous thirst and make watching The Bachelorette tolerable.

I found this:

So I would well on my way to my Monday evening ritual watching Ashley the Bachelorette wear clothes that are too small and/or see-through and/or backless and/or awful, all while she annoys the crap out of me. I had already invested so much time into this season that it seemed silly to stop watching now. And the shows aggravates Steve, so there’s another bonus. It’s wonderfully magical how as soon as the show comes on, he finds something else to do, like the dishes or laundry.

I’ve got him all figured out.


Back to the story.

I walk up to the counter at the local liquor store.

Liquor Store Dude smiles at me. He’s about 60. Not like that matters, but I wanted to make sure that it didn’t sound like he was hitting on me. Or was he? Ew.

Liquor Store Dude rings up my beverages of choice and says “It’ll be this much.” (I can’t remember how much they were, but that’s besides the point.)

I ask “ID?” as I hold out my driver’s license.

“Nope. I remember you.”

Thing is, I really don’t go in there all that often. I’d even say that I rarely go to any liquor store.

So, how does this guy remember me?

Was it the time that The Husband and I went in with three of our friends and bought a combined 5 bottles of wine with other various selections of liquor, way too much for any normal 5 people to drink in one night, but we proceeded to anyway and I was reminded that I am way too old to be doing that kind of shenanigans?

Was it the time that I went in searching for a bottle of wine and when the clerk asked me if I wanted a bag, I responded, “Nope. I’ll just through it in my purse.”?

Was it the time that I went in search of a bottle of wine to fill my flask that I was going to sneak into a wedding, which, I explained to the clerk, was necessary because I didn’t like beer and that’s all there was going to be?

I’m not quite sure.

Maybe I just have one of those freckly faces that’s hard to forget. Or maybe it’s just that I seem to look like a young, stylish alcoholic whenever I go into said liquor store.

The Husband will be buying me all of my booze from here on out.


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