Deep Down, I'm Still In Fifth Grade

I really like this wine, we served it at Food Dance when I worked there. The problem is, it's called sex. See, can't even type it.
So I go into Tiffany's and I look around for it, but I can't find it, but I know they have it, because Tiffany's has everything. If you made moonshine in your backyard they would probably carry it. So, I suck it up and ask. I say-
"Do you have any of the Mawby wines from Traverse City?"
(note: why it sounds like I think I'm a wine snob here, the only reason I even know the company name is because I sold it at Food Dance. End note)
They guy says "I've got a couple. Which one are you looking for?"
Yes, boys and girls, I am 25 and I can't say 'sex'.
I say "Umm... I don't know.. I just wanted to look at them."
Pathetic, Laura! Pathetic!
It is now painfully obvious that I want the Sex, but can't say it.
What's funny is, when we sold it at Food Dance, I had no problem with it. I had to walk up to tables and say "Tonight on special, we have Sex."
But I can't say it to this man.
Because this man looks like Flanders from the Simpsons.
Okaley, Dokaley, Neighbor, I'll take the Sex.
Anyhow, so he finds it, and he says "Oh, looks like we have the Us, or the Sex"
So I grab the Sex and I say
UhyeahthatlooksfineI'lltakethat,thanks.
Should you even be allowed to drink if you can't say sex?
In other news I am semi-employed.
I am waitressing.
I am only okay with this because I have been guaranteed a teaching job for next semester and because a journal wants one of my stories.
Which makes me feel like not as much of a loser waitress with a Master's degree and 60,000 in student loans.
The restaurant is really cool though, it's Cosmo's, which is tiny and cute and kitchy, and directly across from the disaster of an apartment that Rob and I used to live in in the student ghetto that I miss TERRIBLY.
TERRIBLY. Don't get me wrong, our new apartment is nice. But I will take a rundown little apartment in the cute old historic neighborhoods over the nice stuff anyday. Good God, that place was such a piece of crap you couldn't open the oven door all the way because it would hit the refridgerator. And the ceiling bowed about a foot in the middle. And I would buy it in a second.
If I weren't a waitress.
Anyways, I'm going to be a bartender. And I get to wear whatever I want to work.
And I'm trying to be positive.
Because what the hell don't I have to be positive about? I TYPE 70 F-ING WORDS A MINUTE, DAMNIT! TODAY, MICROSOFT OFFICE. TOMORROW? THE WORLD!!!
p.s. My sister has forbid me to say f-ing anymore. She tells me I sound like a trucker. She says "I've got your silk-screened jacket for you, whenever you want it."
But I feel it was warranted in this situation.