Before I was 21, being carded induced anxiety attacks. Not that I ever drank underage (because that would be illegal). But, if I had gone to a party or bar requiring ID (which I also OBVIOUSLY never did, because as previously stated…that would be illegal) I would have, when carded, felt my heart beating through my chest, my pulse race, my face turn a shade of crimson and then I would have spent the evening looking over my shoulder waiting to be thrown in jail unable to enjoy the fruits of my lying labors. Hypothetically speaking of course. And I most certainly would have NEVER intentionally gotten the ID of a visibly obese 21-year-old knowing that when I used her ID, my statement (spoken like a bitchy valley girl on the verge of tears) to the typically male bouncer of “what, I used to be fat, can you NOT make a big deal of it, it is really embarrassing” will undoubtedly 10 times out of 10 result in an immediate end of questioning and clearance into said over-21 location. Again, purely hypothetical…
Then I turned 21, and for about a year I proudly shoved my ID in every bouncer, waiter and bartenders face before they even had a chance to ask for it. Spending my evenings free from anxiety and enjoying being of legal age.
From 22-24, I was indifferent to being carded. I let it happen. I complied. I mindlessly pulled out my license, thinking nothing of the normalcy of showing ID when I chose to enjoy a glass of wine or two.
Between 25 and 29 being carded progressed from inconvenience to annoyance. I mean really, what is the fun of having a significant other that can pay for everything if I still have to have my wallet?! Seriously. It’s a good thing Micah always has room in his pockets for my ID.
Then, over the past year or three (give or take a year due to possible denial) the frequency of being carded started to gradually decline. At first I wrote it off to being with Micah, who is the tender age of 36. Obviously, waiters and bartenders assume I must be of age since he is so much older. Then I realized it was happening when I was out by myself. At first, this was depressing. A sign of my physical decline into my 30s. And then, I had an epiphany. I needed to stop being all ‘glass half empty’…this could truly be the beginning of a beautiful thing. On the one hand, I don’t have to go through the hassle of 100% of the time digging through my purse to find my wallet to pull out my ID. AND, when I do get carded, it’s like Christmas morning. I can act all, oh this is so annoying (gloating on the inside), and begrudgingly fumble through my belongings to show my ID….and then giddily spend the rest of the evening glowing with the joy of possibly, maybe being confused as young enough to have to be carded.
Either way, I’m not inconvenienced or I feel like a rock star. So cheers to being carded…or not! In my mind it’s a win-win.
