While at a church picnic chillaxing on a blanket under a tree a little girl of approximately 4 years young comes up to me to ask if I know where she can find more hula hoops. First of all, do I look like someone who knows how to find hula hoops as I’m laying here in my skirt? No. But I will forgive her for that oversight. I suggest she share with the boy who has one, at which point she walks over and takes it from him. When he protests she explains that “the lady” (aka your faithful writer) said to share. EXACTLY what I meant.
Immediately following this little exchange, another girl of four or five walks over and asks if the first girl is my daughter. I am not sure I hear her right and ask her to repeat herself, but oh no, she did indeed ask if I birthed the at-least-four-year-old child now playing with the hula hoop. From there the following conversation ensues:
Me: Nope, she’s not my daughter
Girl: Well who are you mommy to?
Me: Uh… no one.
Girl (confused): You don’t have any kids?
Me (amused): No.
Girl (still confused): Well do you have any babies?
Me (less amused): No.
Girl (increasingly confused): Why don’t you have any kids?
Me (back to amused): Because I’m not married, for starters.
Girl (looking at me like I’m an alien): YOU’RE NOT MARRIED?!
Me (looking at her like she’s an alien): UH… no.
Girl (utterly confused): Well when are you going to get married?
Me (sad pandaville): Perhaps when I get a boyfriend and he wants to marry me.
Girl (nearly in a panic): YOU DON’T HAVE A BOYFRIEND?!
Me (ready to jump off a bridge): Not so much. Hey… how old do you think I am??
Girl: Uh… I don’t know. Maybe a hundred?
Me: Yes, yes indeed.
At this point I decide I have reach the lowest of lows in this four year old’s estimation, so I think it best to stand up and walk away. Over to the half-acre spread of mid-twenties moms and their toddlers and hang my spinster self from the tree under which they sit. The end.
No but really, I was actually pretty amused, because the church just happens to be one in which there are loads of mid-twenties couples with young children, and so all the women my age-ish this girl ever sees have kids. So, nothing against this church or this girl, but wow, if I wasn’t pretty much absolutely certain my future husband is waiting for me in Romania with a dozen roses and a box of chocolates to woo me, I would definitely be depressed right now.
And now back to crocheting.