[dropcap]I[/dropcap]n Target, a group of teenage girls stood in the checkout line next to Jamie and me. They were rowdy tourists, and giggled at everything. Two of the girls played an impromptu game of tag, the other four took turns seeing who could burp the loudest.

The brunette won.

On the conveyor belt, I counted six boxes of cheap wine, stacked up like a pyramid. It wasn’t the good kind of wine, but the cheap kind they serve prison inmates.

The cashier looked at the wine. “I need to see some ID,” she said.

The brunette rummaged through her purse. She handed a card to the cashier.

The cashier squinted at the ID and made a face. “This isn’t you,” she said. “It doesn’t even look like you.”

“Of course it’s me,” the girl insisted. “That’s my driver’s license.”

The cashier wasn’t buying it. “Oh yeah? When’s your birthday then?”

“My birthday?”

“That’s right.”

The girl scoffed. “This is ridiculous. Let me have my license back.”

But the cashier would do no such thing. “I asked you when your birthday was.”

The girl let out a sigh, then thought for a moment. “April thirty-first?”

The cashier handed the ID back. “Go put all this damn alcohol back where it came from before I call my supervisor.”

With frowns on their faces, the underaged girls took the boxes of wine and sulked away. And just like that, they were gone.

“Dumb tourists.” The cashier shook her head. “The month of April only has thirty days in it.”

“Hussies,” Jamie mumbled under her breath.

Thanks for playing, girls.