You can encounter the weirdest people at the thrift store near my house, for example…apparently, me. Yes, I am the weird one, or at least, other people seem to think so.
Once, for example, I was browsing the store with Mellow in her stroller. A woman walked by, looked in at Mellow, gave me a strange half-smile and a nod, and kept walking. When she got a few feet past me she abruptly turned, came back, looked at Mellow again, and loudly exclaimed “Oh my god! That’s a real baby! You have a real baby in there!” I was, as you may expect, confused by her outburst, because of course it’s a real baby, what did you think I would have in there? And she continued on to say that “I thought it was a doll, I thought you had a doll, but that’s a real baby!” Because yes, I am easily mistaken for a weird person walking around with a real stroller and a fake baby.
But that’s not the best example. This is:
It’s important to note that I am only 5’4″ tall (that’s 1.6 meters to those of you who follow a more logical system of measurements). That makes me just tall enough that you can see from my nose to the top of my head if I’m standing by the dress racks. This is relevant to the story.
So there I am in the thrift store, looking at dresses. Mellow is with me in her stroller. She was about five months old at the time, and she had recently discovered that not only did she have the ability to control those appendages at the ends of her arms and fit them in her mouth, but they were also the tastiest morsels ever created! Yes, her hands were the greatest most amazingly flavorful items in all the world – she could have won on Top Chef simply by shoving her hands in the judges’ mouths. They were absolutely delicious and she derived great pleasure from attempting to devour them.
So there she is in her stroller, moaning and groaning with sloppy and inarticulate pleasure as she chewed and sucked on her own hands. Nothing was better for her than those hands, and she didn’t care who overheard.
And that’s when I noticed the woman a few aisles away staring at me with a look of disgust on her face. Every time I looked over and made eye contact, she shook her head as if reprimanding me. “Whatever, weirdo,” I thought, because as you know, you meet all kinds of crazies in that particular thrift store. This type of interaction continued for several minutes while Mellow obliviously moaned and groaned her way around her fists. And that’s when I realized it – she couldn’t see the baby! The stroller is shorter than me and was completely hidden by the rack. All the woman could see was me from the nose up, so she thought I was having some kind of loud and orgasmic experience right there in the store.
At that point, I could have done one of three things:
- Picked Mellow up, held her over my head and loudly proclaimed “It was her, not me! I’m not the weird one here!”
- Given the woman a salacious wink and waited for her to complain to the employees about me.
- Ignored her and continued shopping.
Unfortunately for the humor value of this story, I went with Option #3. For the purposes of this post, however, let’s pretend I went with Option #2. In my imagination, I winked at her and maybe waggled my eyebrows a bit, and her face turned red, and she fled from the store and later told everyone she encountered how that particular thrift store was full of weirdos (but that there is something very erotic about the dress section).