A few days after Halloween I went for Mexican take-out in my neighborhood on the Upper East Side of Manhattan. The streets had been packed with trick-or-treaters in costumes on Halloween but now the crowds were gone. I ordered a chicken burrito and Corona beer.

The manager rushed over and asked, “Do you have ID?”

“I’m flattered,” I said. I am old enough to be a grandmother and haven’t been carded in years. I used to pluck my gray hairs but now I have so many that I let them grow in.

I pulled my driver’s license out of my wallet and showed it to the cashier. She hesitated and then showed it to the manager, as if it might be fake.

Still agitated, the manager said, “A lot of teenagers dyed their hair gray for Halloween!”


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