All my friends tell me I need to resist peer pressure

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"All my friends tell me I need to resist peer pressure" said my T-shirt, which is usually good for a laugh; but I was in the checkout line in Harris-Teeter, a grocery store in Charleston, South Carolina. [Harris-Teeter's competitors include Winn Dixie, Food Lion, and Piggly Wiggly; I don't know whether there's a law that grocery stores in the south have to have two-word names or it's just a remarkable coincidence ... but I digress.] The young woman (19? 20? maybe I mean "the girl"?) working the cash register read my shirt, and said to me "I don't understand your shirt." Ah, Charleston ...

I tried to explain to her, even remembering my Mom's approach of defining any slightly unusual term – "peer pressure, that's when your friends tell you that you should be doing something, so my friends are telling me that I should ignore what my friends are telling me." No; she still didn't get it. My Mom ventured in, pointing out that I don't really look like somebody who would care about peer pressure ... a valiant effort – but to no avail.

We left the store; I was tempted to go back the next day and see if there had been an epiphany, but cooler heads prevailed, and I didn't. It was a real Charleston experience; extraordinarily friendly, so how can you get mad, but far from intellectually stimulating.