I like to think of myself as a pretty good wife.
I let my husband sleep in most weekends. I do stuff like grocery shop, clean the bathroom and put his socks in the laundry basket (without really saying much).
And, when my husband brings something wonderful home, like a 44" television, I do really nice things like go to the Beer Store to buy his favourite beer so that when he comes home with said television, and a friend helping him haul it, he can have a nice cold beer.
See, I'm nice that way.
I even wore a short skirt for when he got home, and totally agreed to him going out with his friend for the night (and the friend is staying over, and I will most likely be nice and get up with the toddler while he sleeps in). See. I'm a good wife.
But you know what part of this bugged me? The trip to the beer store.
It's not that I don't like beer. But, the beer I like is available at the LCBO, and I rock that store. I like the LCBO. I usually wander the aisles and pick up a bottle of wine and, if I'm so inclined, some beer.
But the beer store???? The place is not for me.
First of all, I never know which line to get in. When I do figure out the line I stress the entire time I am there. What am I getting? How do I know if things come in 6's, 12's or 2-4's. And, how to I order? It's sooooo frustrating.
Again, today, this happened. I lined up forever, and when I got to the front of the line I got nervous and ordered the wrong thing. Who knew Sleeman didn't come in 6's. Why doesn't Sleeman come in 6's? And, did you know there are various different kinds of Sleeman?
When the woman at the cash asked me which kind of Sleeman I wanted I just looked back at her completely flummoxed. She said which one was the best. I said fine.
Then she asked if I wanted ice. Stupidly I said "aren't they cold?"
When she started to laugh I knew what the next question would be ... "Can I see some i.d.?"
I gave it to her and she shouted for the whole store "You were born in 1978? Is this a fake i.d?"
I think she was kidding.
I don't think I look that young.
Once the entire line figured out my age, and I had convinced her (thanks to my work i.d. and my health card) that I really was 29 I left. Beer in hand.
Ever the good wife.
Next time I am going to the LCBO.