Just Call Me Wild Thing. Yup.

So, I am in the hardware store buying spray paint. I am in a fancy hardware store in a fancy neighborhood and I note that the aerosol cans are not locked up in spray paint jail. I do not have to ask a bored employee to unlock the prison gates to buy spray paint. I can just select the paint. And then buy the paint. It is a revelation in shopping, yes.

Note: I do not know why spray paint in a fancy hardware store in a fancy neighborhood does not require security guards. Perhaps the adolescents residing in the fancy neighborhood are either lacking in the artistic ability required for vandalism or do not wish to spray their private school logo on the wall  of the local bistro, under cover of darkness, no.

Oh, yes. As an adolescent, I had occasionally urges to stick it to the man, sure, and I definitely caused my fair share of mayhem and whatnot. Oh you'd better believe it.

Note: No you shouldn't. I am a liar.

I carved my name in a bench at The Ice Burgie. Oh, yes I did. And, if I recall correctly, I was taken to the police station for breaking the curfew and blaring my car stereo at all hours of the night.

Note: No, I wasn't. I am a liar.

But the point is ... I am buying adulterated spray paint by my own free will and choice.

I am at the checkout, looking down, digging in my purse for my wallet.

Note: The Trophy Wife has a giant handbag which is sadly disorganized.

The store clerk is ringing up my purchases.

I am still digging.

Are you over the age of 18? she is asking.

I stop digging. Am I on candid camera?

I look up. My golden hair falls back from my 40-something face. We make eye contact, the clerk and I.

Oh, she says.

And that is all.

But for one brief moment, I am a wild adolescent once again, drinking soda pop in the parking lot after dark, cruising the strip, although my car is overheating and that's kinda lame. I am carving my name is benches. I am turning in my homework ... a day late.

Oh, the wildness of youth.

Heck, yes!