We were visiting my in-laws at a timeshare in Naples, Florida, back in the days when they were alive and spent every winter in Florida. One day I took Madeline, then bout two years old, to the grocery store. In Florida, as in many other places (but not most of Maryland), beer and wine are sold in the grocery stores. I drink very little, and a six-pack of beer could, at the time, last me for two weeks. Still, it was a warm week, and when I passed the beer coolers it seemed like a good idea. I was getting a little tired of orange juice.
The store was quiet, with only one cash register open and one older (of course) couple in line when Madeline and I, she in the cart, approached the checkout line. I put my groceries, including a six-pack of beer, on the conveyor belt. No one was paying me any attention.
Madeline saw the beer and spoke up. "I like beer," she chirped brightly. The couple behind us, who'd been quietly talking to each other, stopped in mid sentence.
"Madeline," I said, as lightly as I could, "you've never had beer."
"Yes I have!"
"You don't even know what beer is," I said, this time a little more forcefully.
The older couple had turned to look at me. So had the cashier. I didn't get the sense that they were considering nominating me for the Father of The Year award.
"Madeline, you know you've never had beer. You have no idea what it tastes like."
"Yes I do!" Her honor impugned, Madeline was getting louder. The more I doubted her, the firmer she became.
The older couple fumbled for their money and one of them paid the cashier. The cashier, transfixed by the scene, fumbled the change, but eventually recovered and processed the money.
She began ringing up our groceries. I was afraid to say a word, and even more afraid of what words Madeline might say. Luckily, we finished without further comments on Madeline's part, and I fled the store with Madeline.
The beer wasn't quite as refreshing as I thought.
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