My three friends and I had just been seated at a swanky restaurant. The drink menu was nearly the size of War and Peace and not wanting to inadvertently gloss over the greatest drink ever, I began my slow study of each wine, margarita, and cocktail choice.
Eventually the waitress approached and asked for our drink orders. I asked to order last because I was still only on chapter 37 of the drink menu. Needing to focus on this most important of matters, I didn’t listen to my friends’ drink orders. Too quickly it was my turn, but I was able to settle on ordering a fancy martini.
“Can I see your ID, please,” the waitress asked kindly.
Since she hadn’t asked my friends for their IDs, I was feeling pretty young. More importantly I was obviously youngER looking than my friends which almost ranks up there with being skinnier.
“HA!” I said, looking smugly at my friends. Enthusiastically I replied, “Of course you can see my ID! I’d be honored! I love showing off my ID, especially now that I’m well into my 30′s! Here you go!” I proudly handed over my ID with a huge smile plastered across my face.
I tried to ignore the questioning looks from my friends and the waitress.
A few minutes later, the waitress returned with our drinks, a diet coke, a water with lemon, and a unsweet tea for my friends.
“Oh.” I sheepishly whispered as the waitress handed me, and only me, my martini.
(It doesn’t help that I recently learned that no matter your age, wait staff are required to ask all people for their IDs regardless of how old they appear to be.) (Whatever.) (I am young and youngER looking than my teetotaler friends.) (Shut up.)