After shopping at Costco, I often feel like I’ve lost precious moments from my life that I’ll never get back, but sometimes it has to be done. This weekend, for instance, I was being visited by four cousins from the south, two of whom are teenage boys. Since they never stop eating, I realized that Costco was probably the only place I could afford to get them enough food to last them through two days in the country.
I was excited that the place wasn’t very crowded, made my purchases quickly and headed to the border crossing to have my papers checked. The eighteen-year-old girl at the door looked at my receipt, and then looked up noticing the necklace I was wearing. It was a black-and-white vintage photo of a woman from the 1940’s sitting in a grassy field kicking up one of her stockinged legs.
“Oh, that’s so cute!” she squealed. “Is it someone you know?”
I smiled at her. “No, it’s just a vintage photo I really like,” I answered.
“Well, then, you should just tell people it’s a picture of you when you were much younger.”
I would’ve taken that little bitch down right then, but the floor in there’s made of concrete. I didn’t want to break a hip.