|Sorry, I know this is a little|
hard to see, but it says
Tale #2-On a slightly more puzzling note, today I was mistaken for a 2nd grader. That's right, at 20, both a student and teacher thought I was 8. First off, I was sending on a park bench waiting to pick Oliver, my second grade heartthrob, up from school. Completely minding my own business (actually I was super engrossed in Betty Friedan's The Feminine Mystique but that's a different blog for a different day, so any-who) I got up from my seat to greet him, when this teacher comes up to me and says, "What are you doing out of line? Is your parent here yet? Did you shake hands with your teacher to let them know that you'd left the group?"
For a second there, I didn't realize she was talking to me, but she was looking me dead in the eyes expecting me to answer. "Um, I'm actually not an elementary student," I answered, "I'm Oliver's babysitter. I'm here to pick him up and take him to a piano lesson."
"Oh, so sorry for the confusion. I guess I just thought, with you being there and um;" at this point, her words began to drift off as she abruptly turned around.
Wow, I thought, didn't quite realize I was channeling the second grade look today but whatever. However, a few minutes later a second-grader snowball fight broke out. Even though I was standing with all the other babysitters, I repeatedly found myself being plummeted with slushy balls of ice. The first few times I thought it was kind of funny.
Maybe, Olie told his friends to hit me with their snowballs. We'd agreed it was perfectly find to throw snowballs in my direction as long as they were aimed bellow the belt. But then, Oliver walks over and asks, "Hey guys, that's my babysitter. She's not in second grade."
"Oh sorry. She just looks so much like us," on little boy called back.
Really, twice in one day. It's not like I'm 4 feet tall. Granted, I was sitting down the first time, and I guess you could say my outfit of blue jeans, a brightly colored sweater, and ponytail were channeling the quintessential second-grade look.
Tale #3-So after spending 45 minutes in the Brooklyn Public Library, I went to pick Oliver up from his piano lesson. As I was waiting in the wet room, I noticed a magazine you wouldn't necessarily expect to find in a cool Williamsburg apartment...Men's Journal. Cover stories include "How to Pick the NCAA Winner" and "Nascar's Greatest Drivers." And while I wouldn't be the least bit surprised to find this magazine on my dad's desk, it seemed slightly out of place in a hipstery, Brooklyn neighborhood. Perhaps I'm being to narrow minded here, but it just seemed a little odd in my opinion.
So, that's it. Nothing too exciting to report today.
Just 3 random occurrences I felt needed to be documented.