My kids find it amusing that I don’t like to break the rules. If the sign says the pool closes at 6, then we are leaving at 6, not 6:15. I don’t run yellow lights, or speed (my alter ego, Iron Butt, does on road trips, but I don’t). I don’t try to use coupons for items I didn’t buy. I wait my turn. I am not a rule-breaker.
Wow (the woman who knows me best, but wants to remain anonymous for the purposes of this blog) recently moved to the beautiful green hills of Kentucky. She now lives near her favorite sister and has her own little apartment in town. She has been planning this move for about a year. She couldn’t wait to get there, near Auntie Narmie. She wanted to enjoy her retirement in the country.
Well, she forgot one little thing. Where she moved? Is a dry county. What is a dry county, you might ask, incredulously? It seems there are actually still counties in America that adhere to prohibition. That’s right, my chardonnay swilling friends, there is no booze. None. Not even if you go to a restaurant. Which has worked well for Auntie Narmie, because she doesn’t drink. But Wow is in for a bit of an adjustment.
While talking to her after she had spent a couple of days unpacking and getting her house in order, she said she was going to run to the store for some wine to celebrate. She called back, remembering there is no liquor store. In phone calls since, she has sighed for a screwdriver or her favorite, a black Russian. I feel for her, I really do. I can’t imagine not having a liquor store near by, or even yet, wanting to move to a place where you know there are no liquor stores near by.
So I did what any good daughter would do. I mailed her some booze. I had some books I was going to send her for when she’s snowed in (yeah, no booze and snow? I don’t think so!) so I put in a big plastic bottle of vodka and a bubble wrapped bottle of Kahlua. I closed it up and shipped it right out. The man at the shipping store didn’t even ask what was in the box, for which I am glad, as I don’t like to lie (see above). I didn’t have to lie, which is good, but I’m
positive pretty sure it is against the rules to mail booze. Especially to a dry county.
Not only did I break a big, fat rule, I contributed to the delinquency of a senior.
I wonder if I’ll be able to paint my jail cell.