I was feeling pretty good when I got to the checkout counter at Walgreen's.
You know how you feel right after you color your hair? Like you just knocked several years off your age? That's how I was feeling. Probably because I had just colored my hair.
Also, I was wearing my favorite jeans and a top that was the perfect length -- long enough to provide strategic coverage, but not long enough to conjure up images of that tall Golden Girl.
Also, and the significance of this cannot be overstated, I was going on a full night's sleep.
So it was with a spring in my step and the confidence of a girl half my age that I approached the counter to pay for my purchases.
Suddenly there it was.
Facing me as I waited my turn, was a huge yellow sign that read:
WE CARD UNDER 40
Of all the times in my life when I was struck with the realization of how old I am, including the time Peanut marvelled aloud at my age, and the first time I ran into an old schoolfriend who is now a grandmother, I have never been made to feel so ancient as when I read those four words.
WE CARD UNDER 40. The underlying message was unmistakable:
You know how you feel right after you color your hair? Like you just knocked several years off your age? That's how I was feeling. Probably because I had just colored my hair.
Also, I was wearing my favorite jeans and a top that was the perfect length -- long enough to provide strategic coverage, but not long enough to conjure up images of that tall Golden Girl.
Also, and the significance of this cannot be overstated, I was going on a full night's sleep.
So it was with a spring in my step and the confidence of a girl half my age that I approached the counter to pay for my purchases.
Suddenly there it was.
Facing me as I waited my turn, was a huge yellow sign that read:
WE CARD UNDER 40
Of all the times in my life when I was struck with the realization of how old I am, including the time Peanut marvelled aloud at my age, and the first time I ran into an old schoolfriend who is now a grandmother, I have never been made to feel so ancient as when I read those four words.
WE CARD UNDER 40. The underlying message was unmistakable:
For those 39 and under - have your ID ready. Please don't be offended by the inconvenience... after all, some of you look young enough to pass as minors, and some sixteen year-olds look every bit of twenty-three. We just want to be sure we're following the law.
If you're over 40 --- don't bother. There is absolutely no chance on earth we're going to wonder if we're making an illegal sale to you.
When my turn came, I laid my items on the counter, and smiled at the clerk. Smiling makes you look younger doesn't it? Silently, I begged her to card me. How do they KNOW who's under 40 anyway? 41 is just over the line. I kept my eyebrows raised hoping to pass for a 39 year-old who'd had a hard life.
No such luck.
There was some consolation in the knowledge that proof of age is not usually required for purchasing milk and nail polish.
I briefly considered asking for a pack of Marlboro Lights.
Deciding it wasn't worth the risk to my ego, I relaxed my eyebrows and left with all the dignity an old woman can muster.
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