Selective memory

An exceptionally good-looking young guy wearing a cuttoff T-shirt comes into the store to buy beer. As I am ringing it up he pulls out his driver's license and asks if I need to see his I.D.

"No, I remember you from last week"

"Wow," he says. "You have a good memory. I'm impressed."
"Thanks."

The young women who was in line behind him is also buying beer. I ask to see her I.D.

"What?!," she teases. "I buy beer here every night and you don't remember me?"

I shrug my shoulders and smile. "Sorry, I have selective memory."

She looks outside at the guy (who is now getting in his car), glances back at me, looks as if a light just went on, and says,

"Aaaaah! I see! Well, you have good taste."
"Thanks."