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Strange weekend. Mom, usually up at 6:00, came toddling out yesterday morning at 10:30 and looking darned embarrassed about it.
Went to the bookstore on Friday night, and was accosted by dark-haired woman:
"Kelly?"
*headshake*
"Sharon?"
*headshake*
"I know I know you. What's your name?"
"Ann."
"I'm sorry. I can't remember your last name..."
"Mutterlarmutter."
"Of course. I'm SUZANNE!"
I shake her hand politely. I have no fucking idea who she is. Possibly we were in school together, but since my graduating class had around 300 people, and half the girls were called Susan, Sue, Suzanne, or some other variation, and I've hysterically blocked out much of that time, and since she doesn't think to give me her past or present surname, clueless is me.
"This is my husband, Steve."
Steve, like Suzanne, is painfully neat. He's wearing a suit. She's wearing the girl equivalent, with a pleated skirt. I shake his hand, too.
"We met in Bible study class. We have five boys now! So where are you working? What do you do there? Where do you live? What is the air speed velocity of an unladen swallow?"
I stammer some answers, in don't-give-information-to-strangers mode.
"I'm sorry. I hope I don't sound like I'm grilling you."
"Yes. You are. Very much so." Who the HELL are you?
She backs off, sort of. Somehow the subject changes to Tintin, which she can't find and her five boys JUST LOVE! Tintin I can discuss with strangers, and do.
"How do you know about Tintin?"
"Four years of French."
"He's FRENCH?"
"Belgian etc. etc. please God strike me dead or set off the fire alarm or something."
They find their book and go away. I still have no idea who she was. Perhaps she mistook me for somebody else altogether.
Found Harley Quinn Barbie, who is fabulous, with her face a delicate pale eggshell color, and Elektra Barbie, a character I hate but a perfectly adorable doll.
Went to the bookstore on Friday night, and was accosted by dark-haired woman:
"Kelly?"
*headshake*
"Sharon?"
*headshake*
"I know I know you. What's your name?"
"Ann."
"I'm sorry. I can't remember your last name..."
"Mutterlarmutter."
"Of course. I'm SUZANNE!"
I shake her hand politely. I have no fucking idea who she is. Possibly we were in school together, but since my graduating class had around 300 people, and half the girls were called Susan, Sue, Suzanne, or some other variation, and I've hysterically blocked out much of that time, and since she doesn't think to give me her past or present surname, clueless is me.
"This is my husband, Steve."
Steve, like Suzanne, is painfully neat. He's wearing a suit. She's wearing the girl equivalent, with a pleated skirt. I shake his hand, too.
"We met in Bible study class. We have five boys now! So where are you working? What do you do there? Where do you live? What is the air speed velocity of an unladen swallow?"
I stammer some answers, in don't-give-information-to-strangers mode.
"I'm sorry. I hope I don't sound like I'm grilling you."
"Yes. You are. Very much so." Who the HELL are you?
She backs off, sort of. Somehow the subject changes to Tintin, which she can't find and her five boys JUST LOVE! Tintin I can discuss with strangers, and do.
"How do you know about Tintin?"
"Four years of French."
"He's FRENCH?"
"Belgian etc. etc. please God strike me dead or set off the fire alarm or something."
They find their book and go away. I still have no idea who she was. Perhaps she mistook me for somebody else altogether.
Found Harley Quinn Barbie, who is fabulous, with her face a delicate pale eggshell color, and Elektra Barbie, a character I hate but a perfectly adorable doll.