I was at the library recently and the librarian was updating my phone number in the system. Immediately after she confirmed the area code, she pushed the books I had just checked out across the counter and said, “Who’s the carrier?” I stared at her. What an odd question. She saw me come in alone and the library has no bellboy service so clearly I was the one carrying the books out. “I’m the carrier. I’ll take them out myself.” It was her turn to stare at me. “Ma’am, I mean who is your phone carrier.”
I carried my own books and shreds of pride as I slunk out the door.
My friend’s grandfather died last week. I offered to help out in any way and she asked that I watched the children in the church nursery during the visitation and funeral. My friend and her brother each have three children so I watched a 6yo, two 4yos, two 2yos and a 4-month-old for almost three hours. We entertained ourselves with crackers (a babysitter’s best friend) and decorating the baby with glowsticks. One of the two-year-olds nearly escaped before I noticed her slipping out the door. I caught her just in time, but not before the other two year old saw what was happening and decided she liked that idea. No sooner had I gotten the first one back in than the second one tried to make her escape. Neither was thrilled when I put a chair in front of the door. You’d have thought I turned the place into Fort Knox instead of a party zone with music, snacks, and glowsticks from my personal stash. One of the littlest girls shared the stomach bug with me which was a real treat. The grandma told me when I arrived at the funeral that Millie had gotten sick the night before but at that point it was too late to turn back. Not that I would have retracted my offer to help, but I could have attempted to pump myself full of vitamin C and healthy vibes to ward off the germs. Evidently I am a sucker for germs because I offered to bring a meal and help out my friend Emily who just had a baby. Her children are 6,4,2 and 2 weeks. The second the baby was born, all health hell broke loose and the entire family got sick. Each person except the baby has been on at least one prescription. They got their roof replaced at the same time which added insult to injury. There is no antibiotic strong enough to help a newly postpartum mother with a sick husband, four sick children and half a dozen men on her roof.
Mother’s Day was lovely. Annabelle made me an All About My Mom paper at school which is always one of my favorite things. Under “In her free time, my mom likes to __________” she wrote “tel Unkle Arion and Tilr her opinions.” (Tell Uncle Aaron and Tyler her opinions.) She’s not wrong. I do love to share my thoughts. Christopher has pointed out that I don’t need to have an opinion on everything. He says it like I actually 1. frequently share my opinion with those who don’t ask and 2. only have negative opinions. I don’t appreciate his opinion on my opinions. For “I love my mom because _________” Sesame said “my life is like a puzl (puzzle) and she is a piece!” I melted like butter.
Every single day I tell her she’s my best girl. For years she’d respond with, “You’re my best girl too!” Now she says, “You’re one of my best girls. Ivy and Aunt Squidzen and Sadie and Emory are my best girls too. But you’re still ONE of my best!” Someone give that girl a talk about not sharing all your thoughts and opinions! But also, Tree meet your apple.
I was minding my own business one Friday night when I received the following texts from an unknown number. I assumed it was one of the twins or a friend playing a prank on me, but we had recently been watching some movie where a shady deal went down by a fence behind a bar so it seemed possible a gang member might have gotten my number when he meant to text Vinny from the Bronx. I responded in the only way that made sense for both a sibling and a gang member- a Mickey Mouse GIF. There isn’t much overlap in the Venn diagram of gang member/loved one but Mickey seemed like the best fit.
I truly didn’t know who was texting me. I was equal parts interested to find out if I’d end up as a human interest story or if Christopher had gotten a new work phone and hadn’t given me the new number. There was radio silence for nearly twelve hours which I took to mean that the tattooed gang leader had found Vinny’s correct phone number and The Deal was done/Christopher had given up on pulling my leg. Then this came through. Well, well, well. Now there’s was money on the table. Color me very interested.
It was my sister texting me from her new phone. All the while I had been texting her about it on her other phone but she hadn’t been responding.
It gave us a good laugh.
We are a Baptist family currently attending a Methodist church. We visited all the baptist churches in town and have, for now, veered off the familiar path to worship with the Methodists. If there’s anything the Methodists love, it’s a special service for everything. We haven’t experienced many of these services at baptist churches so we don’t have a good grasp on what several of them are for. The day before Good Friday, Christopher and Annabelle attended the Maundy Thursday service. Sesame asked me what it would be about but I wasn’t sure. When I got home from the baby shower I was at that night, she was bursting to give me a report. “MOM! You won’t believe it. Jesus is about to be crucified and I have no idea what’s going to happen next in the Easter story. It’s a real cliffhanger!”
I’m so glad all our years of reading her the Bible and sending her to Sunday school are paying off. She’s really hiding those lessons in her heart. Everything she knows about Easter flew out her head once the choir started singing.
Opa came to celebrate Easter with us. We seldom have family for holidays so we didn’t take it for granted that he was there. AB was thrilled to have someone new to talk to and we all enjoy some quality visiting.
New topic that is in no way related to Easter or our risen Lord.
The PTO at AB’s school is in the midst of a reorganization. The two ladies in charge have all sorts of ideas for how to revive the organizations, bring i funds and make every single parent thrilled to volunteer all their free time. They threw around several ideas and asked for volunteers to fill the various positions. I ended up with the role of planning a teacher lunch every month. Everyone else looked at their drinks or off into the corners of the room and avoided eye contact with the director when she asked who wanted to head that up. I felt bad no one was speaking up so I said I’d do it. That’s how I end up in 92% of my volunteer positions. The feel bad portion of my brain takes over the ‘do I want/do I have time to do this” part of my brain and the next thing I know my mouth is offering to drive a homemade four-course meal to a stranger five states away in the midst of a tornado. Just last month my therapist was moving to a new office and said she had so much packing to do. Without any thought, I offered up my Saturday to help her pack, move and decorate the new place.
The lunch takes place on the third Thursday of each month and is called Third Thursday Lunch. It goes without saying that I didn’t give it such an uncreative name. I would have chosen a name with more pizzazz. I do pick a theme for each month because no partay of mine is without a theme. The lady who offered to help me showed up for our planning meeting and her face fell when she saw me. “You’re not who I was expecting. I thought I was doing this with someone else. I thought someone else was Sarah.” She said it several times over the course of the hour which did not start off our working relationship on a friendly foot. We did not gel that first meeting. She insisted we need to plan for 40 people. I said the secretary told me that it was closer to 30 teachers and faculty. She said the email announcement said 40. I wrote the email announcement so I know it said 30. We have very different ideas of how to plan and vastly different levels of confidence in parents’ common sense and their ability to donate food. She insisted we plan the menu down to the exact number of cheese and deli meat slices. She didn’t think I should put “jar of mustard” on the signup list. I needed to put “jar of mustard larger than 6oz but less than 24oz” and “loaf of bread with more than 8 slices.” Let’s give people a little credit. If we ask for a loaf of bread I think we can safely assume we will be given a whole loaf. There’s no need to specify that we aren’t given the bag from the pantry with two and a half slices left. That day I had a double ear infection, my stomach was hurting from the surgery, I had barely slept the night before and I had no patience for such nonsense. As we parted ways, I thank her for her help (“help”) and said, “Please don’t feel pressured to feel like you have to help next month.” As president of the Third Thursday Lunch committee, I thought it best to speak in a diplomatic fashion.
We pulled it together enough to host a successful first lunch in March and a second last week. It takes me weeks of planning and an entire school day to set up/decor and clean up for two half-hour lunches, but the teachers appreciate it. Some parents have gone off script and brought unsanctioned packages of desserts that were not on the signup sheet. You can guess how well that went over with my associate. Hint: like a lead balloon. She and I still have different methods but we’ve learned to work together and things run more smoothly than at our first meeting. Last week I had several parents sit with the younger classes so the teachers could eat in peace in another room. The principal was delighted with this new development. ‘It’s so great to see the parents in here!” It was nice of him to say that about my experiment and overlook the chaos and children clearly taking advantage of adults who didn’t know the lunchtime rules. We hit several bumps in the road the month but the teachers were fed and no parent volunteers lost students so I’m considering it a win. I haven’t seen any signs of the other new PTA initiatives so I think it’s safe to say that my run as TTL presidency has been the most successful. Perhaps I’ll promote myself from Third Thursday Lunch President to TTL Monarch.
We spent the first half of January recovering from our travels and the second half recovering from the ‘rona. It hadn’t hit us since March of 2020 (we were trendsetters) so it was bound to get us again at some point. I’m almost relieved we have it out of our systems for a little while. Annabelle only felt sick for two days but it took me out for over a week. It seems like all we’ve done this year is get sick, recover, cancel appointments/playdates, make never-ending meal plans and school.
check and check
Listening to: the Encanto soundtrack seventeen times a week. AB listens to it over and over and over. I got Finley Donovan is Killing It and True to You on Audible but neither are keeping my attention. I’ve had a hard time concentrating on anything lately so they may be good books and we can chalk it up to user error. Whenever I need something mindless to listen to, I go back to my old faithful podcast Cartalk. I know nothing about cars or the bolts that attach the piston to the internal combustible engine but for some reason, I find listening to an hour of Cartalk relaxing.
Not enjoying: when the cats escape from the house. When we got home from church on Sunday, the living room doors were open and both cats were gone. We got Lucy easily but it took a good 30 minutes to get Linus George Krasinski back inside. He found himself a hole under the deck and refused to come out. We finally got him and not two hours later he escaped again and the whole process repeated itself. I almost put up a ‘free cats’ sign. They escape several times a week and it’s the only time the neighbors hear me yell.
“ANNABEEEEELLLLLE. YOU LET LINUS OUT AGAIN!”
“I’M SORRY MOM! I DIDN’T MEAN TO!”
“Don’t just stand there with the door open! Now Lulu is out too! There goes Linus under the shed. Grab Lucy! She’s about to go right by—never mind. You missed her.”
quality family time under the deck while we waited for Linus to come out of the hole
Crushing: my New Years’ resolution. I have no word of the year. I have no resolutions. My plan is to keep the bar of expectations as low as it can possibly go. My one and only goal for this year was to buy new soap dispensers for the downstairs bathrooms. I crossed that off on January 1st. It might have even been the night of December 31st. We might be headed towards year 16 of this shandemic but we’ll do it with pretty glass bottles.
Showing off: Oliver. I don’t have anything new to say about him but he’s deliciously cute and the world needs to see more of him. When we were in MA, Sesame and I babysat him while Daniel and Erika took Ivy to Boston for the night. Oliver was not as excited about the sleepover as we were. He was very upset his parents would leave him with people who did nothing but dote on him and cater to his every need. He cried most of the time and said “mama mama” in such a pathetic little voice. I knew I had to do something big to turn the ship around and make him like me. I had to redeem the sleepover! We took him to the free zoo (pet store) for the first time in his life and he was as thrilled as an eight-month-old can be. At one point I told AB to watch Oliver in the living room while I used the bathroom. I specifically said to make sure he didn’t eat any of the Christmas tree needles on the floor. She came to the bathroom door to tell me that he was trying to eat the tree but she had given him a piece of tissue paper and told him, “I’m trusting you not to eat this paper while I go tell my mom you’re still eating the tree.” I appreciate her trust in him, however misplaced trusting in a teething baby to not eat a piece of tissue paper may be.
Watching: any shows I can find about cults (or “religious groups that are exclusive and full of rules but not a cult”) and Sweet Magnolias. The topics could not be more different but they both fill a hole in my heart. Several of my friends here are personally offended that the characters on Sweet Magnolias don’t sound authentically southern or use the right southern phrases. Most of the characters don’t sound southern to me and the ones that do sound southern sound like the friends who are offended.
We’re still watching Marvel movies. I’ve told Christopher numerous times that we’ve seen all these movies at least three times each but he insists we have not. We have. I know for a fact that we have. We’ve been watching them for the last 11 years. Why do we keep watching them? Because someone who will remain nameless but whose name rhymes with Farah gets very confused about what has happened in past movies. Christopher doesn’t appreciate many questions being asked in the movie theater so we’re trying to get ahead of the game by rewatching them all now before the next big movie comes out. Questions include but are not limited to:
Why does Loki’s hair always look greasy?
Why is Black Widow considered a superhero? She is extremely annoying and I have no use for her. No one can fight like that while wearing heels and not even having her hair in a ponytail.
Why did they kill off Jarvis?
Why does no one pay attention to Hawkeye like they should? He doesn’t have greasy hair.
Why did they kill off Tony Stark?
Why is Doctor Strange showing up again? He’s rude, has a terrible attitude, and is a selfish stick in the mud anytime he’s on the screen. Why does he survive when Matthew Crawley did not? (Downton is a totally different universe but I never miss a chance to bring up Matthew’s death.)
Who’s that character? What do you mean we learned that character’s backstory in the first iteration of the series directed by so and so in 2009? Do you think I can keep up with other universes when I can barely keep up with what’s happening on this universe?
The same person who continually rolls her eyes and sighs has so many opinions about said movies that you might be led to believe that she is more invested than she cares to admit. You would be correct. I was very upset when my beloved Captain America handed over his shield to a new man. WHY DID HE DO THAT. I will never love another Captain America as I loved him. Don’t come near me with your talk of a “new generation” and “the story must go on” and “plotline development.” Plotline Shmotline. Chris Evans is where it’s at. Yet another new Marvel series has hit Disney+. I’ve been told it’s the same universe as the other movies but on a different timeline or some such nonsense. Or maybe it’s the same timeline but a different universe. I zoned out when I was being told. I have drawn the line in the sand and declared I will not be watching it. Does it have Captain America? No. Thor? No. Iron Man? No. Is Chris Pratt singing and dancing while he hunts for aliens? No again. Then adios, Marvel. I won’t be spending any more time with you. I can’t watch movies where the characters shoot beams/lasers/fire out of their hands and/or eyes. I have a one-character limit for that and the new series has several hand-shooting characters so I will not be participating in that viewing.
See? It’s stupid.
Loving: my new purse. I’m not one for name brands, but I am one for sparkle and shine so when I saw a sparkle Kate Spade bag on sale for 70% off I fell in love. I never make large purchases but I thought I would make it my splurge of the decade. Immediately after I showed it to Christopher online it went out of stock. I took it as a sign to stick to my TJMaxx purses. Imagine how delighted I was when Christopher got it for me for Christmas. He’s the reason it went out of stock. You could say sparkle is my signature color.
Organizing: everything that stays still long enough to be organized. I picked up some new organizing bins and baskets and went to town. I organized my makeup drawer at 9:30pm. I’ve watched videos about under kitchen sink organization and efficiency. I’ve bookmarked several different styles of clear containers. Perhaps I should spend a little extra time organizing my hair. Annabelle drew this portrait of me and I can’t say it’s my best look ever.
A few weeks ago AB was a woodland fairy in A Midsummer Nights Dream at school. I volunteered to help “backstage” which was a random room with a sink, a few clothes racks and chairs. The director asked me and another mom to stay backstage and keep an eye on the teenagers. I didn’t think they’d listen to me because in my brain I’m still 18, thin, and full of vim and vigor. Then I remembered I’m more than twice the age of some of the teenagers and I got out my new walker with tennis balls on the bottom.
Back in ye olden days I was a stage manager for two large musicals. I loved it and often bring it up to remind people (ie myself) that once upon a time I did something grand. I got in that room and instantly all my stage manager instincts came back. I tied sashes, helped a boy put on a wig and sent the fairies out to the stage on time.
I also knocked over a large tree on the side of the stage and the audience saw it fall down.
I am NOT a Shakespear far and to be honest, I understood very little of what was happening or being said. I think Shakespear is a snoozefest. He takes an eternity to say anything.”I pray thee, gentle mortal, sing again: Mine ear is much enamour’d of thy note; and thy fair beauty’s force perforce doth move me on the first view to say I love thee.”
Dude. All you need to say is, “You sing beautifully and it’s love at first sight for me.” Wrap it up, Willie. We don’t have all day. The Royal Shakespeare Company has me on speed dial to promote all their performances.
Please enjoy this fantastic photo of Annabelle worthy of winning the Pulitzer photography prize.
We went to Texas for Thanksgiving/early Christmas. I was able to walk on my own for all those travels. When we flew to Texas a few weeks after my surgery I had to use a wheelchair in the airport. All that walking would have done me in and I might have ended up back in America’s worst hospital. Christopher pushed the wheelchair part of the time and it has been confirmed that he is as bad at steering a wheelchair as he is at steering his car out on the open road. Apologies to the poor woman who undoubtedly ended up with a large bruise on her ankle from the chair crashing into her. For this trip we flew out the day before Thanksgiving so we budgeted in several extra hours for traffic, ticket lines, and security. We stood in nary a line. It took longer for us to find a parking spot and get our four bags, car seat and slowpoke child from the car to curbside check-in than it did for us to get through security. It was very similar on the way back. Fingers crossed we have the same experience when we fly home for Christmas. Our flying good luck is bound to run out soon.
A highlight of the trip for Sesame was riding on the Polar Express. She’s been asking to go on a train for months so it was a dream come true. They gave us hot chocolate in cute little cups and I asked AB if she was going to keep it. She raised her eyebrows a little and said, “Mom. Why would I do that? It’s just a cup.” She keeps rocks from random parking lots and straw wrappers from Sonic. Excuse me for assuming she’d want a cup from her first train ride.
Sesame brought her emotional support stuffed dog Ian Major Clark on the train. Disaster struck when we got back to Oma’s house and realized we’d left IMC behind. A few weeks ago the airline lost our luggage and AB’s precious Memere Blankie that she’s had from birth ended up in Louisiana. We got the blanket back after bugging the airline for days. I was prepared to hound Santa, the elves and all employees of the Polar Express until we got the dog back. AB had a lot of emotions about the missing emotional support dog that she had to deal with without the support of the emotional support dog. There was much rejoicing when he returned. We need to leave all precious cargo behind next time we fly.
Even though it’s approaching Christmas, it’s been a warm 70* in our neck of the woods. We’ve been doing schoolwork outside and enjoying not sweating like pigs. AB usually wears shorts but I’ve been wearing pants on principle because it’s December. I’d love to be dressing for snow but in no world is that realistic. We’ll be in flipflops until kingdom come. The leaves have finally changed and we have enough to play in. AB made a leaf face which she then posed next to while doing a “yoga pose.” “Mama, I love yoga and I’m pretty good at it.”
When life hands you leaves instead of snow, you make leaf faces instead of snow angels.
Tap tap. Is this thing on?
Testing testing 1 2 3 testing.
I am finally emerging from the dark shadows of the dumpster fire that has been our life for the last five weeks.
I don’t have the energy to detail it all out (and I’d rather forget most of it), but a short version is as follows. Within a two week period I had an extremely painful burst ovarian cyst, found out at the doctors office that I was pregnant, was told 12 hours later that it was another ectopic pregnancy, and then the ectopic pregnancy ruptured (HORRIFIC PAIN) which caused me to pass out five times at home. I took an ambulance to the hospital where I stayed for three days under care of the worst doctors (but the best nurses), was forced to wait for a surgery that should have happened immediately, finally had the surgery and spent several weeks at home trying to recover. Meanwhile, two people close to us died and we lost a fourth baby. Talk about DUMPSTER FIRE. It got to the point that I’d panic when the phone rang because I didn’t know what bad news we’d hear next.
Two things before I move onto events that didn’t make me cry. Whenever I’m trying to decided whether I need to shave my legs or if I can go another day, I do the Ambulance Test. If I had an emergency that required an ambulance trip, would I be embarrassed if an EMT who looked like he was in a Hallmark Christmas movie saw my unshaved legs? If the answer is yes, I whip out the ol’ Suave shaving cream and get to work. This test doesn’t apply to how my legs look before I go on a plane trip. If I survived a plane crash, I’d have bigger fish to fry than the state of my legs. I’ve been doing this test for years. When I came to after one of the times I fainted, I heard Christopher calling 911. I had two thoughts as my brain cleared. First, I could hear the 911 operator asking how old I was and Christopher saying I’m 33. I am only 32 and don’t age me, especially when I’m laying on the kitchen floor near the trash can. Second, I immediately congratulated myself for having shaved my legs the night before. I would have been so annoyed if the ONE time I go in an ambulance I didn’t pass the Ambulance Test. Speaking of annoyed, I realized the first morning I was in the hospital that I only had one earring on. I thought maybe I lost it somewhere in the shuffle of switching rooms, but Christopher informed me that I only had one earring on since I arrived. Talk about adding insult to literal injury. I wore a hospital gown for days but it was the missing giant pearl earring that made me feel extra naked.
Second, generally when a woman has an ectopic pregnancy they have to get a shot at the hospital to help the body work things out and bring down the hormone levels. Last year when I went for the shot I asked for a heating pad for my hurting stomach. There was not a heating pad to be had in the hospital. This time I was prepared and brought my own heating pad to the ER. It’s a BYOHP (bring your own heating pad) situation. The first night at the hospital I asked for another bag of fluids because I could tell I was still very dehydrated. The nurse went to ask the doctor but came back with the news that I couldn’t have one “because there’s an IV shortage.” I was an admitted patient with internal bleeding asking for fluids, not a drunk bum who wandered in. May God keep me from ever being treated there again but if there is a next time, I’ll know it’s a BYOPH and BYOIV hospital. Think how prepared I’ll be! I’ll have smooth legs, two earrings, a heating pad and an IV. Maybe I should get my own oxygen tanks just in case.
Most of the time since I went into the hospital on October 10th has been spent in recovery. It was very painful and difficult for me to move for the first few weeks then I hobbled around the weeks after that. I still have some pain and am constantly exhausted, but I’m getting back to normal. I went to Walmart yesterday and had to rush to pick up Annabelle in time. My body did not appreciate the fast movement and protested loudly. I haven’t been able to go on long walks or to zumba, but I did short walk around the park before my stomach started hurting again so I am improving.
Holidays come and go with little respect for someone who might be on strong painkillers and unable to walk to the bathroom by themselves. We had said we’d decorate our trunk for trunk or treat at church but almost canceled last minute. Mom and Elizabeth were here to help and Elizabeth said never fear, I am here with my trunk decorating skilz! She helped turn the back of my car into a fish tank. Mom wore a green dress with green hair accessories and became a plant. I wore regular clothes with a stretchy waistband to protect my stitches and said I was the owner of the fish tank. I couldn’t stay the whole time, but it was important to me that I got to go for a little while. I had barely done anything with AB for weeks and felt like I had abandoned her. Despite my best efforts to change her mind, she went as a Harry Potter character again. I long for the days when she was a bumblebee or a butterfly with crooked wings and a colorful tutu.
For going around the neighborhood with friends she dressed up as a detective. I made her recreate the costume today so I could get a picture. We were so scatterbrained the day of we didn’t get a picture. She just now told me that for the “real day” she wore pants, not a skirt, “so this isn’t as accurate.” That would have been helpful to know before I took the pictures.
It’s finally dipped below 70* so we had the first fire of the season.
We went to the pumpkin patch where I saw babies in fall outfits and mourned that AB doesn’t want to dress like that anymore. That about sums it up for life over here. PLEASE LORD, let the rest of the year be smooth sailing.
The planning of Aaron’s wedding has been a slow uphill climb.
I was in a coffee shop working on the wedding and the two hipster pastors also there were talking about the upcoming wedding of one of them. I wasn’t eavesdropping! They were speaking loudly in a public space for all to hear. Not that I don’t eavesdrop, but in this particular situation I wasn’t. The already married one said they were engaged for nine months and his mother-in-law planned the wedding so ”it was a piece of cake.” The groom-to-be said they’ve been engaged for six months and it hasn’t been long enough. Meanwhile, I’m over here planning a wedding on a very small budget in five months. I planned my own wedding in four months so I know it can be done, but planning a wedding from 1,200 miles away in a venue I’ve never been in and won’t see until the week of the wedding is a horse of a different color.
The food situation is a real conundrum. The wedding is so close to Christmas and the venue is not a caterer’s dream so we’re having a hard time nailing someone down. I’m getting worried we won’t find someone in time. I might resort to calling Dunkin Donuts and ordering 200 munchkins. I am not Jesus performing the miracle of feeding 5,000 with five loaves of bread and two fish. I can’t scrounge up a caterer to feed 91 people with a bag of croutons and a can of tuna.
Planning a wedding involves too many phone calls and too much talking to strangers. I am very particular about who I will happily talk to on the phone and numerous caterers, rental companies, people at the venue & more don’t make the cut. No matter how many times I go over the agenda in my head before I call I always mess something up.
Speaking of messing up something in a conversation…
At work a few weeks ago a woman told me she’s colorblind and can’t tell between greens, blue and black. I made sure to be very clear about where I put those colors to avoid confusion. She also couldn’t see some parts of the stencil well so I helped with that as well. I tried to help without going overboard and babying, for lack of a better word. It was all going fine until the end. I told her she could put regular wax on her sign which would barely change the color of the paint, or she could use antique wax which would change the shades and make them look aged. What I should have done was leave it at that. What I did was follow up my statement about the antique wax changing the colors with, “It’s good for people who can actually see that kind of thing.” The second it came out of my mouth I was MORTIFIED.
I don’t know why I said it, it just came out. I didn’t mean to be rude. I wouldn’t say, ”Oh, you don’t have arms? Here, take a bat and go play baseball.” Her best friend was with her and she thought it was hysterical because evidently she’s always teasing her about mismatching and whatnot, but I am not a best friend who can say that kind of thing to a stranger. I’m supposed to be A Professional. A professional hider in a box who never shows my face at work again is what I’ll be.