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A few weeks ago, I’d had the good fortune of picking the brains of two attorneys in my family for a story I was working on. These guys were so patient and so kind, I decided to send them each a token thank you gift. And, since we were at a family gathering at the time of the interview, I noticed they both drank beer. What better choice than sending locally made beer? Brilliant! At least, that was my thought when I went about the process of finding said beer that was also bottled and could be shipped at room temperature.

My first choice for them came only in a keg. (Sorry, guys. Much as I appreciated your input there was no way you were each getting a keg shipped in a refrigeration truck to your homes. Besides, what would your wives say? Dumb question. Well, the answer’s still “no.”)

But after a bunch of phone calls I found another locally made beer that was bottled and could be easily shipped. Great! I headed down to a shop that carried the brand, a writer on a mission to thank my victims. . . umm. . . cousins for their kindness. And as I stood dazed in front of the beer selection, my mind going numb at the choices upon choices upon choices, I came to one conclusion: I wish they drank wine instead. Sigh. To say I chose their bottles playing a game of Eenie, Meenie, Miney, Moe wouldn’t be far from the truth.

But the real highlight of the evening came at the check-out stand.

In a weird way, my life is a paradox day-job-wise, a cross between working in a male-dominated world with a child-sized body and a job title that assumes a certain degree of authority. (That job title/authority part? That’s what I’m told, but I swear I’m perfectly harmless! *Insert angelic face here*) I’m not that different from anyone else, which is why it always amuses me when I see pictures of myself in a crowd of people. There’s no way I’m THAT small!

But, alas, the world seems to be a bit confused by me. And that evening at the check-out stand was another example.

There I stood, all set to begin the transaction, when the really sweet young lady looked at my bottles, then at me, and said, “I’m sorry, I’ll need to see your I.D., please.”

No, I don’t get that all the time, but when you’re my age, you gotta really wonder about people. (And, yeah, I’m always secretly pleased!) “Sweetie, I’m old enough to be your mom,” I told her as I handed over my driver’s license.

After looking at it she grinned, gave it back, and said, “Yeah, you are. My mom was born the same year!”

Nice. She should’ve just taken my word for it.

Anything amusing happen in your life lately? I’d love to hear about it!

-Melia

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