Dan's got me thinkin' about my 21st birthday. I can remember it like it was yesterday - which it soooo wasn't!
I had gone to the local grocery store at midnight, waited a few minutes and then filled my buggy full of liquors, vodkas, beer and wine coolers.
I heaved and hemmed my way up to the registers where a lone cashier stood looking bored and irritated at the same time in his standard-issued blue smock.
He sighed and began slowly ringing up my alcoholic purchases.
I smiled and waited for him to say those magic words: "Can I see your I.D.?"
He looked at me and put a hand through his greasy, spikey hair and said: "That's be [a crap load of money]"
I was confused. I had waited 21 years for this moment. This single instant that would cement me into my role as a full-fledged adult and - this was it?!
This was more of a let-down than when I lost my virginity.
And at least THAT took 2.2 minutes.
"Don't you want to see my I.D.?" I prompted.
"What? Oh, sure. Whatever." He barely looked at the card.
Later that night while the party raged on I was pretending to drink a Zima with Grenadine ( I figured out - a bit too late - that I don't care much for alcoholic beverages) I pondered how my life would now change - I was 21 - no longer branded a teenager or "underage" for such adult things as drinking and - more drinking.
Just then a gorgeous man appeared in the doorway. He was raven-haired and had dimples that rivaled that of any screen legend. He was tall and muscular. Was this my birthday present?, I wondered to myself.
I opened my mouth to speak to him and swiftly and deftly dropped my Zima. I spattered myself, my chair, my carpet and the jeans of the cute boy.
My face was as pink as my shirt as I contemplated, just for second, mopping the spilled drink from his nether-regions with my napkin.
"Luckily" his girlfriend was there to stop me.
And that, dear readers, is how I spent my 21st birthday. My foray into adulthood ended - with me on my knees, covered in pink like a Gwar concert reject and fully sober.