Here's an amusing little story.
I was at my friend Lesli's house last week and she was having a woman clean her house. We were all sort of chatting and the woman said to me, "My daughter wore that very same shirt to school today!" I looked down at my shirt... it says "I put the R in Rad." Oh, so there are two of us? Sweet.
Lesli and I, of course, cracked up. She went on to say, "She's 17 though, so she knows what's 'in'." Whew, I feel much better now.
"Of course, she borrowed the shirt from my 14 year old."
We lost it. I think Lesli is still on the floor laughing at that one.
Now, I told you that story to tell you this story:
Lately I've really needed a baby-free day. On Monday Phil was off of work so he sent me out to be alone and get some things done that I wanted to do, instead of needed to do (which always ends up happening when I get time alone. It's the grocery store... the post office... you get the idea). After my haircut and pedicure I ended up at the movie theater. I've been wanting to see Children of Men since I heard it was coming out (it ended up being a waste of time and money... a huge disappointment. But that's another blog for another day) so I purchased a ticket from the teenager behind the window and went inside to the ticket-taker.
A woman no more than ten years older than me smiled as I handed her my ticket. She looked at it, looked at me, and then looked back at the ticket. I was still holding my hand out, waiting for her to tear the damn ticket and give it back to me so I could buy some scrumptuous popcorn and get to my seat but she was just standing there staring at me with the Diane Sawyer look (you know the one... that weird, sort of far-off constipated look). I raised my eyebrows in a not-so-subtle "WTH is your problem" kind of way and she cleared her throat and said... wait for it...
"Can I see your ID please?"
I suddenly got all flustered like I got caught trying to skip class or something. I fumbled in my diaper bag-esque purse and pulled out my wallet while she tried to make nice by telling me, "Someday, honey, you'll appreciate this."
No, Honey, I think what I would appreciate is buying some scrumptuous popcorn and not having to fish my ID out of my purse to prove to you that I am, in fact, OVER THE AGE OF 17. SEVEN. TEEN. I know I look young, but not senior-in-high-school young. Come on, lady.
When I finally got to my seat with my scrumptuous popcorn I set my purse down and noticed my shirt... "I put the R in Rad". And also, apparently, in "caRded at the R-Rated movie".
That shirt is going to Goodwill. Or the 14 year old down the street.