"Excuse me, what?" I replied, shaking my head a bit as if to clear out my ears.
"Yeah, you have to be 18," she went on, "it's a new thing. Because of the graffiti problem, you know."
I glanced at Dad. "Geez, shades of allergy medicine," I said. "At least they're not writing our names down in a log book for the DEA and taking our fingerprints. Yet."
Dad looked at me, then back at the cashier, flabbergasted. "You're kidding," Dad said. "You need to be over 18 to buy a Magic Marker now?"
"Oh, yes, even the little Crayola ones that wash off," the cashier confirmed solemnly.
Dad and I looked at each other again, shaking our heads, speechless. We stood there in silence as the cashier rang up the rest of our stuff.
"Paper or plastic?"
"Plastic," Dad replied.
We gathered up our groceries, including the potentially illicit Sharpies, and headed out of the store.
"You know what I want to do right now?" Dad asked, suddenly.
"I want to take those markers, and go grafitti something!" he exclaimed. "I have never, in my entire life, felt the slightest desire to grafitti anything, but now ... "
"Yeah, I know what you mean," I replied. "Hey, while we're at it, let's go make some crystal meth out of some allergy medicine!"
"Yeah," he agreed, laughing and shaking his head. "Sounds like a plan."
"Thank God for our government giving us these new entrepreneurial ideas, huh?"
We drove the rest of the way home, laughing and shaking our heads.
ETA: Thanks to the most awesome merri_chan for the killer icon for this post.