The other day I was in the local craft shop trying to return something I'd bought previously in a fit of stupidity. (I'm not going to name names, but for those of you who know where I live, it's the ginormous one you pass on the way to my house.) I was attempting to convince the cashier that he didn't need my home address, drivers license, date of birth, social security number and rights to my first-born child just to accept the thing back, when an obviously well-meaning and more 'seasoned' employee felt it necessary to intervene.
After explaining that I'd bought the wrong thing and didn't see the need to burden them with all of this personal information, she eyeballed me and tossed her curler-curled dirty blonde hair. With a voice like Scarlett O'Hara after chain smoking for the past 100-odd years, she threatened, "Welcome to America, honey."
I was so utterly overwhelmed by her charming display of Southern Hospitality that the cutting but witty retorts which suddenly clamoured for attention where trapped somewhere behind my clenched teeth. Next time I go back, I must remember to congratulate her for managing to extend a welcome that was only slightly less hostile than the surly immigration official I met at LAX 14 years ago.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Sunday, September 27, 2009
You Know It's a Good Day When...
Mum's birthday saw us at a restaurant talking about family, friends and fun times. I cracked a funny and she laughed so hard that the lemonade she was drinking came out her nose. Parents hope to see their children grow up to be caring, service-oriented citizens, while we just hope to see our parents laugh 'til they snort their drink.
Maybe Mum's reached the age where she needs a sippy cup again. I learned that term the other day in Relief Society when I was asked to pass one to the sister next to me. What on earth is a sippy cup? Not a baby bottle, apparently - that's for babies. It seems that any child who is 5 minutes or more past being a baby uses a sippy cup. Heaven forbid I should ask a 2.5-year old if she wants her bottle...
Had to ask Mum what we call sippy cups in New Zealand. Kiwi translation: beaker. Just hearing the word makes me want to crawl into a fetal position and suck my thumb. Such a Pavlovian response was the cause of many problems in Chemistry class, as you can imagine. That's probably why I'm not a nuclear physicist.
Maybe Mum's reached the age where she needs a sippy cup again. I learned that term the other day in Relief Society when I was asked to pass one to the sister next to me. What on earth is a sippy cup? Not a baby bottle, apparently - that's for babies. It seems that any child who is 5 minutes or more past being a baby uses a sippy cup. Heaven forbid I should ask a 2.5-year old if she wants her bottle...
Had to ask Mum what we call sippy cups in New Zealand. Kiwi translation: beaker. Just hearing the word makes me want to crawl into a fetal position and suck my thumb. Such a Pavlovian response was the cause of many problems in Chemistry class, as you can imagine. That's probably why I'm not a nuclear physicist.
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