Yesterday, I thought I was having a mental Mexican standoff in the checkout of my grocery store. Turns out? Wasn’t what I expected….
After a long, tough workout, I went to my local grocery to buy some wine….of course I did….don’t judge me….
I plopped it on the counter in front of a lady who was about 55. She had those glasses that reach just the tip of her nose so she can look down on the world. Her hair was tightly pulled back in a bun. She totally had judgey eyes.
Here is what I surmised she was thinking….thus the standoff began:
Checkout Bitch: Look at this girl. Single. Buying a jug of wine. Not even making an effort to look cute in case God forbid some man walk by. She has fur on her pants. I bet she has cats. And I bet she hasn’t had sex in years. Youth….it’s so wasted on the young….
So I shot her a judgey look back because, for some reason, my inner sorority pageant bitch was roaring.
My look said: Yes. I AM buying wine in an economic size. Am I going to drink it all tonight? No. Did I save money per ounce? Yes. You were having a sale on one of my fave brands. Now, doesn’t that make me smart? And YES, I look like hell because I just worked out….so I DO look hot for men. This ass doesn’t just happen on its own. And yes. I have cats. That doesn’t make me sad OR lonely. And YES, I have had sex probably more recent than you, and definitely more times than you, which is sad lady since you are what… twenty years older than me? So put your glasses back up on your nose, take your bun down once and a while, and STOP judging me from your own glass house….BITCH.
Checkout Bitch: ID please in her snide tone
Me: Certainly back in MY snide tone
Checkout Bitch: HOLY SHIT!!!!
Me: cold stare…. did she really shout an expletive about my age…or my ID photo? Either way, bitch is going down…..
Checkout Bitch: Really – look! Look how old she is! said to bag boy
Me: Dear GOD. Lady, if you make a crack about my age, it’s the last thing you’ll do today. I’m not in the mood for….
Checkout Sweetheart: Hon, I thought you were underage and trying to buy alcohol. I swear I thought you were late teens or maybe 20.
Checkout Sweetheart: I’m sorry I looked at you like that. But you must be used to it by now. What’s your secret dear?
Me: Not really…. but thank you. My secret? I don’t know. Perhaps I’m part pickled.
Checkout Sweetheart: Hahaha – you’re funny too! You have yourself a nice day now.
Me: You too….
Apparently all I need to feel young is a ponytail, yoga pants, flushed red face and tennis shoes. Now, can someone tell my reproduction system I’m still in my early 20s? Just in case? That’d be great. Thanks….