This afternoon I bought a bottle of Zackariah Harris Kentucky Bourbon Whisky. I’m not a whisky drinker, or a drinker period, but when I strolled into my local liquor store and asked for a bottle of whiskey, I couldn’t help but feel like a two-bit drunk.

“I’m making apple bourbon potpie for Thanksgiving so I need this for a Martha Stewart recipe,” I explained to the cashier. He nodded his head, reached behind the counter and grabbed a bottle in a way that implied he’d heard this rambling excuse more than once before.

I walked away from the counter with my $4 bourbon in a nondescript paper bag and felt the cashier’s eyes following me as I left. “Suburbanite drunk,” he must have thought. “I can spot’em a mile away.”

On my way out, as only luck would have it, I tripped, in a spectacular fashion, on his Christmas tree. I’m certain whatever doubt he may have entertained about my explanation was fully eradicated in that brief, clumsy moment.

I looked back and our eyes made contact.  Sometimes the most inconsequential encounters can be so misunderstood.

Here’s a link to my very innocent, Thanksgiving Day apple bourbon potpie 🙂