We shall not grieve for what is past, nor mourn that Youth is o'er
The other day I decided to make Welsh rabbit, and when I went shopping I bought the ingredients. (I haven't actually made it yet--this is what it is to be a student and (theoretically) a working woman. You wind up living on hot chocolate and peanut-butter-and-banana sandwiches.) Welsh rabbit involves cheese, beer or ale, mustard, and bread.
I bought a large bottle of Newcastle brown ale. The woman at the grocery-and-liquor store didn't card me. It was the first time in my life that a shopkeeper who didn't already know me has neglected to card me. Ladies and gentlemen of LJ, speaking as the vainest woman in Massachusetts, I am miffed.
(This has been your post from the Debatable Lands between, "I am an adult, stop treating me like an overgrown child," and "I'm twenty-nine, I'm getting olllld and what have I done with my life?!")
I bought a large bottle of Newcastle brown ale. The woman at the grocery-and-liquor store didn't card me. It was the first time in my life that a shopkeeper who didn't already know me has neglected to card me. Ladies and gentlemen of LJ, speaking as the vainest woman in Massachusetts, I am miffed.
(This has been your post from the Debatable Lands between, "I am an adult, stop treating me like an overgrown child," and "I'm twenty-nine, I'm getting olllld and what have I done with my life?!")