Tuesday, July 22, 2003
Having long since accepted the fact that the freaks always manage to find me, it did not surprise me when a scuzzy-looking couple (both of them with grey teeth) got behind us in the checkout line and wanted to chitchat about our baby. In a matter of less than 3 minutes, the standard questions that strangers always ask ("How old is she? What's her name?") gave way to a disturbingly invasive inquiry:
"Was she planned?"
A question like that - especially posed by total strangers - really doesn't deserve a real response or even a polite sidestep. I had always intended to answer that one by smiling vacantly, murmuring "It was in accordance with the prophecy," and perhaps adding something about bags of weasels falling from the sky as a sign of the apocalypse.
These folks didn't look like they'd be put off by a response like that. In fact, they appeared to be more of the type that 1) would be very interested in hearing about any hallucinogenic properties of the weasels, and 2) would want to share their own apocalyptic predictions.
I ended up stammering out a shocked response, to which the couple replied that they are trying to start a family. Trust me, the result of the merging of their gene pools will be one tremendous UberFreak.
# posted by Amanda at 8:01 PM |
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