I was pacing the rum aisle, becoming increasingly agitated. Unable to choose. White was easy to eliminate. There’s still half a bottle of that at home. Gold? Spiced? Dark? Black? Damn you, Jamaican marketing wonks. Damn you.

Dean had something last week that was good. I’ll text him and ask.

“Appleton, I think. Not spiced. Regular…” he said, “…but I’m picking my kid from work so I can’t go check right now.”

“No problem. Just tell me later. I won’t be able to sleep until I know. Meantime…grabbing Captain Morgan’s Gold.”

This is the fastest debit machine I’ve ever used. As I was doing up my seatbelt, Dean sent one last text…”Last weekend, someone got Captain Morgan Private Stock and it was awesome.”

Dammit.

This is how old guys make the best use of cell phones. Texting about rum at 10 PM on Saturday.

Dammit.