When I was young and overweight I sewed. This year I made the very ambitious, very unrealistic decision to sew my own Halloween costume. I have not sewed in ten years, minimum. Yesterday I embarked on the journey that is the fabric store. Shiny-eyed and eager, I lingered in the store absorbing art supplies. My twenty-two-year-old self felt worldly and accomplished enveloped by people that construct marvelous creations from piles of cloth. After an eternity exploring every aisle, I checked out. Between scanning fabrics, wood products, and glue, the employee inquired after my birth date. I replied before the request struck me as odd. The conversation that followed:
Me: "Sorry, I'm just curious, but why did you need to know my birth date?"
Employee: "We aren't allowed to sell glue to anyone under eighteen."
Me: "You think I look eighteen?"
Employee: "Well, younger than eighteen..."
I came directly from work so was even in work clothes. I only get carded for alcohol half the time, but essentially got carded buying glue.
For the record: this was the result of my valiant attempt at hand-sewing a costume:
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