The Iron Chef and I recently put another notch in our collective gluttony belts. I have a new job with the U.S. Forest Service, thank you very much, and I was sent to Bend, Oregon for a workshop. I invited the Chef a) because I’m an awesome wife, and b) Bend is the beer playground of the world. 

We managed to tag on a little weekend beercation, coming home through Hood River. So I’m not saying that visiting 10 breweries in Bend and 2 wineries outside of Hood River impaired my faculties, but something inspired me to jettison my purse at the first brewery we stopped at in Hood River.

For the record, I’m not sorry. The beers we tasted at the Logsdon Barrel House & Taproom were worth exchanging your firstborn for, much less a silly old purse with a net worth of my half empty Curiously Strong Ginger Mints.

When I realized my mistake, the nice people at Logsdon cheerfully agreed to mail my purse to Podunk. Problem solved.

Except that I had offered to take Odd Number to Boise for a hockey tournament. In a previous post, I reported on the City of Trees’ new hipster elitism. I even presented a certain unnamed establishment with the Too Big For Your Britches Jackwagon Award of 2015. I found the 2016 winner.

After watching 2 hockey games, I talked an unlikely fellow hockeymom into going to a nearby wine bar for a little nip.

The hostess asked for our IDs, which caused us both to giggle like school girls.

I explained that in a fever of approval for the Logsdon Barrel House & Taproom, I had recently jettisoned my purse. And then I showed her that I had crow’s feet that could legally vote and drink. The hostess moved back as I moved in. And then she called for the manager.

The manager tried to help me understand that Idaho state law requires me to show ID, and does not allow carbon dating or 90s trivia contests to be used as a substitute, as I was suggesting. And then, he turned me away.

The state of the world, and of the union, is in a fairly F*#@!d up state right now. Meanwhile, as surrounding states have legalized pot, Boise’s hipster elite are valiantly protecting civilization from fair-to-middle aged hockey moms sipping a glass of merlot. Congratulations, society, you’ve been protected.