May I see your ID?
I got carded buying wine last Friday. When it happened I dutifully handed over my ID and thought incredulously, “I don’t look 21.” Truth is, I’m lucky if I look 35 on a good day. And Friday was not such a good day.
So when the checkout guy commented on how young I look I responded with the obligatory, “you’ve made my day,” and then left… wondering. Did he really think he needed to check my ID or were there alterior motives? And if the latter, then what could they be? Does he do that to all forty-something moms in jeans and a dirty Tshirt wearning no makeup to “make their day?” Did he want me to assume a Cougar-esque stance and proceed accordingly? Was I supposed to have a quickie in the parking lot of Trader Joe’s in my dirty SUV between the two car seats?
I was reminded of when I was in college and some local boys would cruise the main drag and whistle at us on the way to the movies. Again, did they really think we would stop, call them over and invite them to join us? Ok, so it was Santa Barbara and local surfers are very cute. But we never did so what is the point?
And doing it just to make me feel good? Puh-leeze! That doesn’t jive with EVERYTHING else I know about the male species — mainly, they never do anything they don’t want to do. That means I’ve never identified an “I don’t really want to do this but it will make her happy” bone anywhere in any masculine frame. Ever.
I wonder, as I drink my wine, what was he thinking? Maybe after another glass I’ll figure it out.