We were heading home for my cousin's wedding (see below) and I had everything and everyone packed, fed, and ready to go. We arrived at the airport, were directed to a "special" (read "snail's pace slow") lane, and approached the check-in desk.
Clerk: "How many passengers?"
Me: "Four but one is a lap child."
Clerk: "Do you have proof of age?"
Clerk: "Do you have a copy of her birth certificate?"
Clerk: "Do you have a copy of her immunization shots that would show her age?"
Clerk: "Do you have anything at all that shows she is under two years old?"
Me: [rummaging through the diaper bag in hopes of finding some evidence, some shred of proof, some saving grace that would allow us to board without having to resort to TP's clever but complicated plan of purchasing an extra ticket and then getting reimbursed upon sending proof of age later] "AHA!" [pulling out a strip of plastic that was hidden in a side zippered pocket that had not been opened for over a year] "THIS is the medical bracelet I wore at the hospital when AP was born! See! It has her date of birth on it!"
Clerk: "Works for me."
Me: "SUCCESS! Pack rats of the world UNITE!"