Sequins and Security Checks

February 22, 2026

I went to the party.

And I had fun.

The real kind.

The kind where you laugh so much your face hurts a little the next morning.

I didn’t dance.

I didn’t need to.

I just talked.

And laughed.

And somehow felt like the life of the party anyway.

And then I went to the bar.

The bartender looked at me and said,

“I need to see your ID.”

I laughed.

She did not.

She made me go back and get it.

Now here’s the part that makes it cinematic:

My ID was in the pocket of my faux fur coat.

That was draped over my chair.

Which means I had to turn around,

walk back across the room in sequins,

dig through the pocket of my dramatic coat,

retrieve my ID,

and then return to prove

that I am, in fact,

very much over 21.

Everyone around her knew who I was.

She did not care.

My oldest turns 21 next month.

Let that settle in.

It felt good.

And a little weird.

And slightly hilarious.

Because time is strange.

And apparently I live in the space where

I have a child about to legally drink

and a bartender who still isn’t convinced I can.

Anyway.

I had fun.

I laughed.

I got carded.

I’d call that a win.