FAKING 19

I walk into a room that's so dim it takes a minute for my eyes to adjust. The bar looks just like it did in the picture I saw in a 'Hip Hangouts' article in Instyle magazine, all dark wood and big mirrors. I don't see Connor anywhere, but I grab an empty stool and squint at the multi colored chalkboard drink menu. They have like fifty different kinds of beer but I don't want to order that because it makes me bloated, and naked and bloated is not a good combination. I don't know enough about wine to even attempt that, so I think about playing it safe and just ordering a club soda with lime, but then I catch a glimpse of myself in the large mirror on the wall in front of me, and I don't know if it's the dim lighting or what, but I decide on a cosmopolitan. I've never actually had one before, but if it's good enough for the cast of Sex and the City it's good enough for me. I mean, I'm wearing new make up and a thong, surely I can pull this off.

So when the bartender says in an English accent, "Can I help you?"

I go, "I'll have a cosmopolitan, please."

Then he looks at me closely and says, "I'll need to see your ID."

And I break out in an immediate sweat. I guess there's a big difference between faking nineteen and faking twenty-one.