Monday, September 12, 2005
Whatever the age is at which an American has the freedom to purchase cigarettes even though it seems she left her driver's license at home, which, incidentally, happens to be over 200 miles away, FAB has apparently not yet reached it. And the cashier will not be impressed when we tell her that Jimmy Carter was the Leader of the Free World (and isn't that funny) when we first issued into the world. And we will not be impressed when the cashier unconditionally refuses to sell us cigarettes even though we assure her that while we actually graduated kindergarten in 1985, even if we had gracefully flown out of our mother's vagina in that year, we'd still legally be allowed to purchase cigarettes in this country, for the love of Jesus. And the cashier will be further unimpressed when we curse at her and leave the store. Some of us operate less than gracefully on four hours of sleep. But I think they call this age adultolescence.