She was in no mood to talk about the anti-christ baking in her uterus, little fists more of an annoyance than a wondrous awareness of this little living being inside of her. She ignored the sales woman, and walked straight past her. She eyed the tiered sash-tie dress in black, fingers struggling with the hangers until she pulled out a size two. She held it in front of her, and nearly sobbed right in the store before making it to the register.

"Is this a gift?"

Her valid passport was already sitting on the plastic platform, sliding her debit card through, clicking around with the black pen. He's scanning her two buck Chuck [wine], 2004 Mondavi Cab, triple distilled vodka, sparkling pomegranate juice.

"I just had my twenty-fourth birthday." She doesn't offer a smile, she's interrupted, actually. Some woman who knows her from a past job that she'd rather forget.

"Margaux! Is that you?"

Fuck Christmas. Fuck people buying things during Christmas time. She briefly looks over at the contents of my basket, and she doesn't feel too much shame.

"Oh, hi. How've you been?" It's empty. Whatever. She's moving on (deciding whether she needs cashback or not), and the woman shuffles a little bit, says a couple words frozen, and they've brushed each other off.

"What I would do to be twenty-four again."

"What?" She's wondering why he's still talking. Shouldn't he shut the fuck up and bag her shit?

"Your twenties are the time to get in trouble. When you get in your thirties you have to think about retirement. Enjoy your twenties. Get in trouble."

She thought it was a little to late for such a suggestion. "I will, thanks." She pauses before the mumble slips out. "I hate the holidays."

"Excuse me?"

"I hate running into people I know." She hates explaining herself, too.

He chuckles. "They're probably thinking about how you used to be such a sweet girl..."

"And now I'm such a lush."

"At least you got good taste in booze."