So I made it to the third bar last night before I figured out that I had left my wallet, including my ID, on my kitchen table. The blonde server who was at least a decade younger than me kindly asked me to leave. At least I felt young again for a fleeting second. Because our babysitter is a high school student who had class this morning, I gave it up at that moment and we just called it a night. It was 9:03 p.m. But I had enjoyed a few rounds of yummy cocktails, a great dinner and a once-in-a-lifetime chocolate custard pie already, so I was ok with it.
And now I can tell everyone that I got kicked out of a bar and they'll assume I'm some kind of bad ass. It's always good to be vague.