So...I took a mental health day from work today. Which probably benefited the students as much as it did me, since I find myself saying things like this...
First on my list? Pancakes for breakfast, pajamas until 2:00, and hours and hours of Downton Abbey. (Puh-LEASE remind me why I wasn't born with a trust fund so that I could make this a daily habit? Sigh.)
Eventually, I realized that if my roommates came home and found me, they may have though I was teetering on the border of depression and despair. I needed to get dressed. I needed to get out of bed. I needed human interaction. (I also needed a drink, but I figured that wouldn't look good when the roommates got home either.) So I ran a brush through my hair, slapped on a headband and some semblance of an outfit, and decided to walk downtown.
I wandered into our little local library and had just pulled "The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel" off the fiction shelves when a tall, 30-something year old man in a windbreaker walked past me, did a double take, and meandered over to me.
"What book you got there?" he asked nonchalantly.
Well, by the words on this here cover I'm going to say it's called "T-h-e B-e-s-t E-x-o-t-i-c M-a-r-i-g-o-l-d H-o-t-e-l". You can go away now. "It's called the Best Exotic Marigold Hotel," I said, trying not to roll my eyes. Why can't Ryan Gosling look-a-likes ever have this reaction to me?
"See, I might write this title down. You say this is a good book?"
Well, seeing as how I'm pulling it off the shelf in the library, I haven't actually read it. I bet it's better than standing here and talking to you though. "I'm not sure. I guess I'll find out."
He (amazingly) continued: "See, what I'm going to do is write this down. 'Cuz I'm not from around here, I'm just staying with my mother while she's sick, see. So what I'm going to do is write this down, and then when I come back I'm going to check it out."
Me: Nodding. Just. Keep. Nodding. Please, please, PLEASE stop talking.
"See, my mom wants me to move here, but I'm like, there's nothing to DO around here. You gotta go to Elizabeth City to get something to EAT, you gotta go to Virginia just to have a little FUN, I'm like 'I can't move here, mom'".
Not engaging in conversation. Not engaging in conversation."....Yeah. Well, good luck finding a book!"
Dude: "Hold up, let me go and get a pen and paper."
Oh. Hell. No. As soon as he disappeared I shoved the book back on the shelf and bolted. Unfortunately, there's a thing you need to know about small libraries: there's not many places to bolt to, especially from weirdos who live with their mom.
I'd gotten through a few aisles and managed to collect the following...
|It's difficult being so intelligent and well read. Really.|
...when I heard the familiar swish of his windbreaker as he strolled towards me. Sigh.
He LITERALLY had a pen and paper in his hand. "What was the name of that book again?" I told him (for the third time). He gazed at my Positive Discipline book. "Why are you reading that?' he asked as he tenderly stroked the spine. (The book's, not mine.)
I am SO not having this conversation slash I do not want you to have any inkling of where I am employed. This is the part where desperation took over: "I...um...I have a teenager. Yep. I'm a mom! She's twelve. My daughter. I mean thirteen. I'm a mom!" I blubbered.
Dude (nodding his head empathetically): "Wow. You have a teenager? I can't believe it. Wow. Well good for you, being all positive discipline and all. I mean, the world is a tough place these days. I mean, take me for instance. I'm not here trying to hit on you, though you are definitely attractive." He chose that moment to lean in verrry close and whisper: "I like black women."
Well that settles it. I don't like freakazoids that probably have skin suits in their basements, and you don't like Caucasians. What a shame! Good thing there's plenty of fish in the
This is what I get for leaving the house. #neveragain