After a pretty endless slog, Harold got some good career news yesterday, and so I stopped on the way home to buy a nice bottle for a toast, like adults do. Anyway, I picked out a nice prosecco for Harold, and they also had a sweet red wine that makes a good sangria, and a moscato on sale, and you know what? I’m not going to explain myself. Wine is sold in cases, people have entire wine cellars, I don’t have to explain why I was buying multiple bottles of wine. I’m an adult and I can do what I like.
I should probably mention here that I look a great deal younger than I am, and I get carded fairly regularly, and every so often, the person checking my ID will take it all very seriously, carefully scrutinizing my license and sometimes calling for a manager. The most annoying part is that in North Carolina, a round of slow and predictable smalltalk is required here. I smile agreeably each time while an unhurried cashier comes to the inevitable conclusion that I certainly do look younger than my age and it must be so nice to look so young. (I miss New York, where people assume that other people have places to be.)
So anyway, I was in the midst of convincing the cashier that I’m totally an adult and to please sell me lots of wine when I heard someone call my name, and there was one of my little students, excited to run into me and say hi.
Role model for the children, that’s me.