the way some people die

so i'm went to the ryman last friday and forgot my id.
buckling buckling.
i'm standing in line with this look of oh.
god.
i.
can't.
have.
another.
beer?
i had already had three, and stopping there does very bad things to my esophageal lining. very bad things. think old alka-seltzer commercials.

so i trundle up to the id checker while rummaging through my purse and look at him sheepishly, preparing to make a clear argument that i am obviously over 21 and that, come on... i have crow's feet.
i take a deep breath, start with, "i can't find it... i think i forgot it." take another deep breath to continue my opening statement and

the guy takes one look at me and slaps a wristband around my wrist.

that slap was the last thing i remember hearing before i came to terms with the fact that i am getting old.
the shins just weren't the same.

i mean, i'm so old that i don't even think to pack my id when i go out.
i'm that old.
thank god that im this cool.
insert maniacal laugh.