As a side note and point of reference, if I ever say anything peculiar to you, it is not because I am intending rudeness or anything of the sort. I would like to diagnose my alleged randomness to be caused by inoculation. Injections of chance, unusual incidents throughout my societal experience have numbed me gradually to noticing anything odd, as such. I’m sure it has created a sliding scale much different than many people and I do endeavor to be sensitive to that fact. However, I extend my sincere apologies if you are one of the strangers I told to, “Stop frowning or get a new job.” or “Oh yes, you may tie my shoe, sir.” or “Do you sell the game Kmart?” or “Perhaps you should just keep your cat in your purse while you’re swimming?”
I may need to blame my condition entirely on the myriads of extraordinary persons with which I have collided. They say things to me as varied as, “I veel go ‘ome. Deevorce mahee vife, and come back for you.” and “Excuse me ma’am, but your hair looks so nice – Oh! I mean, from the back.” Now a couple of my miniature experiences that may be at fault are coming to mind.
Perhaps I’m still reeling from the group effort at the paint store headed by a curly-headed male, strongly resembling Linguine of Ratatouille, to predict my future astrologically and how it pointed towards our “togetherness.” Maybe it was the bounty hunter who stopped in at work, made me blush, my mother pale, and my dad enraged. It could be partially caused by the fashion photographer who I upset by not posing like “a lioness in spring.” No, it might have been Ahmed from Lebanon and his 30-something son who had an all out argument regarding settling down and marrying me, while I cowered at fifteen, behind the front desk with their paperwork. Perhaps explaining to a group of newly-arrived, Romanians that I and other young ladies were not “for” them, left a dent on my mind…
I can’t tell if it was the gigantic, hairy Jew in the airport who called me a “wildcat” or the willowy, blue-eyed dancer who spent hours talking to me on an airplane about fashion, makeup, and his boyfriend. What if it was that seventy-year- grizzly man who surprised me, paid for my coffee, and told me about our potential glory days together? Yes, it must have been the police officer who nearly did a summersault because I was unzipping my coat. Poor fellow; I should have known better: I could have been seventeen and hiding an Uzi in there. Maybe it was the time I sang an aria on the airplane because I was sitting between two drunken fellows and the timing seemed appropriate, contextually? Conceivably it was the little child who asked sincerely if I was “a pirate booty.” It could be the strange texts I got from that stalker about socks, trampolines, and showers until we got a restraining order...
Please don’t misunderstand. (Almost) All these conversations were with wonderful people who make for such fun memories. I just speculate that it’s done something to me. You know? Perhaps it is just part of who I am now. My sincere apologies if I become a happenstance inoculation in your life by saying something you consider “strange.” If you don’t consider these things “strange” like my family does, well, I like you very much. In the meantime, if it makes you feel better like it does for my parents, it’s getting better. Nothing they consider weird happened this week, yet.
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