My driver’s license is such a liar. According to it, I’m not nearly as young — or good looking — as I’m pretty sure I really am.

Not everyone seems to understand that, though. Consider an incident the other day at the supermarket.

The place is packed, because the television weatherpersons have been preaching all day about how an enormous snowstorm is headed our way, and it may be the middle of June before we will be able to dig our way out. Which meant we probably were going to get three or four inches of snow and it would be approximately an hour and a half before the roads were cleared.

Still, you don’t want to take chances. One winter — I think it was 20 or 25 years ago — we really did have a big snowstorm and many people had to go practically an entire day without making it to their nearest mall.

So I drive to the supermarket, pick up the bare necessities to survive the storm and wheel my cart to the end of the long checkout line.

While I’m waiting to pay for my family-size bag of Doritos and three bottles of wine, I notice the customer in the next lane. It’s an attractive young mother with a little girl about two years old.

The little girl clearly is not happy to be trapped in the cart that’s stuck in the line, and she appears to be on the verge of tears. Or, worse, a tantrum that will be heard from here to the produce department.

Fortunately, in addition to being much younger and better looking than my driver’s license would have you believe, I have a way with little kids. So when she looks in my direction, I make a funny face. Making funny faces is something I do really, really well. It’s a gift.

But it’s a gift too precious to waste on adults with whom you are not acquainted. You make a funny face at a strange adult and all you usually get in return is a suspicious stare. Or maybe a shot of pepper spray.

But little kids love funny faces. And this little girl is no exception. The funny face stops the impending tears and she stares at me with a mixture of curiosity and uncertainty. I make a different funny face, which elicits a tentative smile. I cross my eyes. A big grin spreads across her face and she starts making funny faces back at me.

We trade funny faces back and forth for the next several minutes until my facial muscles start to get a little winded.

“You know,” I say to the attractive young mother as I finally push my cart up to the cash register, “I think your daughter’s been flirting with me.”

“Yeah,” the mother says, “she really likes grandfathers.”

The face I made then probably looked a lot like the one on my driver’s license.

Contact D.L. Stewart at dlstew_2000 @yahoo.com