What Was She Thinking?!

No, it's not CSS Naked Day. The Opera servers are having fits again and somehow my stylesheet has been hosed. So, for awhile at least, you've all been spared the retina-burning hot pink and black design that was here just moments ago.

If you know me, you know my age. If you don't, well, you'll just have to figure it out. But the important thing to remember is that I've become quite vain as I hurtle toward that half-century mark. Most of the time, I'm told I look much younger than I actually am. This may be because I don't usually act my age.

But there are some clues flying around out there that I'm no spring chicken anymore. One such was the other day when I was out shopping in a department store. I had my cute little crop pants on, makeup still on from work, I thought I looked okay. I took my purchases (cute clothes and shoes and other girly girl stuff) to the counter to pay. As I'm standing there, the sales clerk asks me how old I am. (Well, it wasn't a bar so I knew I wasn't being carded, so I told her.) And then I committed a mortal sin. I asked her, "Why do you ask?" I should not have done that. Do you know what she told me? She said, "Oh, I just wanted to know if you qualified for the senior citizen discount, it's Tuesday."

Oh My Dog. Oh Long John. Oh Long Johnson. Oh Don Piaaaano. I couldn't believe my ears. I told her, "Even if I show up in here with FRESH CEMETERY DIRT IN MY HAIR, do not give me the senior citizen discount!" I felt like Shirley MacLaine in Terms of Endearment after Debra Winger informed her she was about to become a grandmother!

They say that junk food is bad for your health. I'm finding that to be true, but it very well be bad for the health of the clown (not literally, but you know what I mean) taking my order in the drive through window. I too can literally stop his heart if I want to. And this past Saturday morning, I wanted to very badly. I was ordering breakfast for me and Robo.. We stayed up late the night before and neither of us felt like making breakfast "from scratch." So .. the convo in line at Jack in the Box goes something like this:

Me: I'll have two Supreme Croissant sandwiches, please.
Clown: What kind of jelly do you want?
Me: Jelly? There's meat on those croissants, right? (Oy.)
Clown: Yes, but some people want jelly with croissants.
Me: (sigh) No thanks. (Good god, who are these people who slather jelly all over a sandwich that has eggs, cheese, ham, mayonnaise and god knows what else on it?)
Me: Can I also have a large coffee and some milk?
Clown: Chocolate or white?
Me: (Through clenched teeth..) WHITE. MILK. PLEASE. (If I had wanted chocolate milk, I'd have ASKED FOR IT!!!)

I'm surprised I didn't have a stroke right there in the drive through. I mean, I know, it's just a minimum wage job but really, people. Get a grip. Milk is milk. It does not come in colors, except white. So there's no need to ask me to clarify it unless you are asking me if I want whole milk, skim milk or 2% milkfat milk. And one look at me and you'll know that I'm not on a Jenny Craig diet right now. Geesh. And the jelly on the breakfast sandwich? It was not meant to be eaten that way and if anyone should want to try this, they can darn well beg for the jelly at the takeout window.

So the long and short of it is this: If this is all I can find to bellyache about this week, life's been pretty damn good, huh?

The Muslims are offended again. How will I ever cope? Now, since they can't manage their own minions, they want to tell the Catholics what to do? Find a ladder and get over yourselves.