ed note: The following post was written at the urging of Jenny the Bloggess. Right after Jenny begged SG to be her BlogHer '09 roommate. But rumor is that Jenny snores, plus SG wanted the flexibility to bring her pet Giant Squid at the last minute (0), so SG is still, amazingly enough, available for all your BlogHer 09 roommate needs.
As my first post of the year, what I write today sets the bar for all of 2009. That's a helluva lot of pressure for someone who has been wearing pajamas for eleven straight days.
So I've decided to talk about times that people in my family have been confused for retards. (1)
The first time, that I know about at least, was about 15 years ago. PCSguy and I were at a seafood buffet in Ocean City and a bus from a group home arrived. The counselor had arranged a deal with the manager; a reduced price but only dining from the starch and dessert side.
PCSguy had just piled his plate high with crab legs. One of the waiters stopped him. "No," he was told "that's seafood, sir."
And then PCSguy came back to the table (2) and shared this story, having to know full well he'd be hearing about it the rest of his life. Which does make one wonder about his mental capacity.
Last year Jake and I were waiting for the orthopedic surgeon at Children's Hospital for his pre-surgery exam. This dude was taking forever (3) and there was literally nothing to do in the examining room. White walls and a chair bolted to the floor. And no cell phone service. After playing a zillion rounds of "Guess what year this penny is," we were eating the only thing we could find, a handful of loose jellybeans that we found in the bottom of my handbag.
Doc walks in and apologizes for the delay. Jake smiles this huge goofy smile. "Purse jellybeans," he says. And then nothing else for the entire exam. Nothing. No response to "does this hurt?" No answer to "do you have any questions?" I assumed it was nerves and exhaustion, the doctor came to a different conclusion.
What triggered this fairly offensive retrospective? This March Jake will be the honorary ball boy at an NBA game. (4) He'll help rebound balls during warm-ups and gets to stand with the players center court during the National Anthem. It's a big deal, and Jake cannot wait.
Unfortunately what Jake has in enthusiasm, he lacks in athletic prowess. Unless I start home schooling him with a major in dribbling and a minor in "are we the team in white or the other guy?" it's clearly going to be a disaster. (5)
Then it occurred to me: the best case scenario here is everyone will assume he's retarded. Totally gets me off the hook. I could even start a rumor that he's one of those Make A Wish Kids. Whisper it to my neighbor like in that game telephone. Then people will look at me and then at PCSguy and think "Bless her heart raising that child with that bizarre hereditary spastic disorder."
Although I'll be hard to recognize. I'll be sitting like eleven rows away trying to remember if we're the team in white or the other guy.
(0)Or possibly none of that is true and the question remains; why the Hell has that woman not taken out a restraining order yet?
(1) 2009 is apparently the year of pissing off my readers.
(2) Sans Crab legs.
(3) Completely forgivable; he's the best pediatric orthopedic surgeon for 100 miles and a total hottie to boot.
(4) Details to follow after the event. Last thing I need is some politically correct NBA PR person googling this.
(5) Not the National Anthem part. We're cool there. Jake knows all the words and sometimes even accompanies himself on his recorder.