From now on, I will no longer go anywhere without make-up ever again. EVER!

I hate Wal-mart. I always have to psych myself up to go. Wal-Mart, aside from all the obvious reasons to hate them (ya know; they put the little guy out of business, only buy from China, blah blah blah) it is not a great place to go for a germaphobe like me.
But, I was in a good mood when I got there. I went early, right after Molly left for school, cause I like to avoid the crowds. I was in a hurry to get there and get back, so I dressed very casually; jeans, my Big Dog hoodie, my Red Sox cap and a ponytail, and as mentioned earlier, no make-up. (Girls, you know how it is; when you dress up all week, some days you just don't want to have to worry about it, right? Am I right?)
So, I'm going thru the register, (the ONLY register out of 26 that's open! but I digress) and I see the lady working it is someone who's waited on me before. I can remember her because,
A.) She had the dull listless look of someone who's basically just waiting for the Lord to take her.
B.) Along with the other pins on her Wal-Mart mandated vest, right beside the one that said "I'd Rather Be Smoking" was one of those big picture badges of a small girl who she told me was her grandchild. (THIS IS VERY IMPORTANT TO THE STORY - REMEMBER THIS)

I place my purchases on the sticky conveyor belt (You know how they have that questionaire on the pay pad- Was your store clean today? Notice they never ask if everything was sticky today, cause they know the answer! Wal-Mart is ALWAYS sticky!)
and she begins to ring up my Coca-Cola, Nutty Bars, Doritos, and beer
(Don't judge.)
As she's ringing up the beer, the register bings, and the message comes up "Is customer under 40?" to which she immediately clears the message, and the other cashier that is standing beside mine, a gray-hair who looks to have been able to have given birth to Moses, lets out a loud guffaw which briefly loosens her upper denture plate. I ask about this message, and my cashier says, "That's so stoopid, I don't know why they put thar!"
At this point, I'm still trying to be nice, and I comment that when I used to work at Drug Mart the management would try and trick us and send people thru to make sure we carded them. She answered, "I usually do if they look young!"

Again. "I usually do if they look young."

Finally it dawns on me what this horrid woman has just said.

"Um....you didn't ask to see my ID just now..." I say. Again, Toothless lets out another guffaw. She's brilliantly well-spoken.

Cashier looks up from her task with a panicked look, and I can tell what she's thinking: Shit. She's gonna fight with me now and I'll miss my Marlboro break!
So, then she's quick to try and fix it! In the phlegmy drawl that I've already come to know and love, she says, "Well I almost did, but I figured you were about our age."

"Our Age?" You and Toothless Magee?!?! A gramma and a gray hair?? Same age as me? Um, ok, how freakin' old do I look?"

OH! But it gets better! Cause, THEN she says, "You're what, early 30's right?"

Uh....is she trying to tell me that the two of them are in their early 30's? And that would mean, that in effect, I myself am OLDER than these two?

How bout I just throw myself under a bus right now?

The thing is, when did this happen? Do I look as haggard and hard as these 2 ladies?

I wasn't feeling the camaraderie that these cashiers were feeling. I didn't want to be lumped in with them. It's like, when I was in high school, I weighed 165 lbs. Now, I would kill to be that weight again, but in high school, of course, that's comparable to whale size. But I can remember very distinctly, being at a park, and this HUGE, and I mean huge! woman, tripped and fell, and when I helped her up, she thanked me, gave me a wink, and said, "Us big girls need to stick together!"
Ugh. Was my own perception that far off? That lady had rolls on her rolls. Seriously.

Anyway, I really don't like being obsessed about looks. I hate the people that are. I mean, I'm cute, I think; but I've never been a raving beauty, and I'll never be a model. I'm ok with that honestly; it helps your self-worth immensely to have a wicked hot guy like my hubby that can't keep his hands off me. Every time I see one of those cocky little Size 0's, I wanna throw baloney at them and say "Hell with you, I have more love than you'll ever have in your lifetime bitch." But I don't because that's mean.

And I don't mind getting older, (much) as long as I don't look too bad. And as long as Andy is still grabbin my butt when I'm 80, life will be good.