Oh, twenty-one, that eagerly-anticipated age of majority. I’m actually not sure which age young people look forward to more, eighteen or twenty-one. Both ages are ages of majority – at eighteen you can vote and smoke and get your driver’s license if, for some reason, you don’t have it already (because, believe it or not, I know a few other people who finished high school without one). But at twenty-one, you can legally drink, and I know many people who anticipate this event with as much, if not more, excitement than the ability to drive. I still don’t understand this, but I suppose that’s a result of my own baggage.
I know some people who plan to get completely smashed on their twenty-first birthdays just because they can. I’m not interested in all that, but I did want to celebrate my ability to purchase alcohol by purchasing alcohol, so when my husband took me out for supper, I ordered a glass of wine. I happily provided my ID when I was carded and when the waitress couldn’t find my birthday, I was happy to direct her where to look to find it.
That was the big event of my twenty-first year. The new has now worn off, but I still get a thrill every time I’m carded. Now, of course, it’s because that means they think I look too young to buy hooch the legal way. Either that, or they card everyone who looks under 40 (thank you, Walmart). But still, policies aside, it makes me feel almost as warm and fuzzy as curling up with a nicely chilled glass of moscato and a couple sticks of Shullsburg string cheese.
Saginaw Cheese – Cheese, it’s good!
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