Bittersweet

I got my Medicare card today with mixed feelings: happy to have it but a little bummed-out that a girl like me is considered a senior citizen.  Later, Jimmy rode with me to Winn-Dixie where I ran in to pick up a few things while he waited in the car.

"What are you smirking about?" he asked as I was putting the groceries in the back seat.  "I got carded," I gloated.  "YOU LIE!" "No, I'm not lying.  The little check out girl made me show her my driver's license, and she entered my birth date into the register."

"Well, you KNOW it was a new employee and they told her she had to log in everybody's birth date, even if they're 95 and on a walker."  Wrong thing to say, Jimmy, like being told, yes, that dress makes me look fat. He was right of course, but he didn't have to be so quick to burst my bubble.

Oh, and the bottle of wine I got carded for: