Slippery Slope

My standard for rebelliousness* has changed with age.

Tonight at dinner I did not want to finish my beer in the restaurant. I really wanted to bring it back to the hotel; I'm beat, see? Last night I had asked if they could sell carry-out beer; I asked knowing what the answer would be, but I just had to ask because that is what I wanted. But tonight, well, tonight I just felt frisky. I wanted that beer, the beer I paid for and was rightfully mine, and I wanted it in my hand and then in my belly, and I wanted to put it in my belly in my hotel room.

I waited for the path to the door to clear of staff, and then I slipped my beer (in a bottle) into the pocket of my cargo shorts. My ninja skills were on. Pitter-patter. And the cool rush of evening air on my face told me I was home free. Or hotel room free, I should say.

Five years ago I would have just walked out beer in hand. I guess I'll take what I can get.



*Hard word to spell and I got it on the first try as far as I can tell.