Nice to mole you.

I always find it a bit uncomfortable when people speak to my children and then actually wait for an answer. Evie is almost 2, and I feel that she is super duper intelligent. That being said, I don't think she is going to answer a strange old man when he asks her where she got her beautiful hair. I just smile and watch them stand there in silence, wondering if I should muster up my best baby voice and attempt to throw it into Evie's mouth or if I will just look like I'm on drugs. Either way, it would end the awkward silence that has now gone on way too long and maybe this guy will just move on down the produce aisle and let me get my tomatoes and get out of there.

Anyways, today was Walmart day. So Evie and I are perusing the frozen burritos (don't judge me) when she approached. Now, we've all seen People of Walmart, right? Well, this lady was a front runner. Not only was she wearing neon purple yoga pants and flip flops, she had her hair in at least three different pony tails. Topping that all off with a giant fur coat and a mustache that could shame Yosemite Sam, she was setting off every fashion alarm in the city of Reynoldsburg. And she was headed my way.

Fitting her stereotype, she dove right into a conversation with Evie about ravioli and some restaurant she loves where she has a longstanding relationship with the owner who is 75 years old but now his daughter has taken over and doesn't even make the ravioli homemade anymore and...(pause for breath)...how her husband ordered a steak last time they were there and it was totally messed up and they got mad at her for complaining and.........................here's where crap got ugly. Because all I could do was stare at her mustache/hair cheeks (as Cailynne calls a beard). Does she not see it? Does her husband not see it? Does she not have any good friends that could somehow find a way to mention to her that there are ways to get rid of a mustache? Or at least leave an anonymous gift of a razor or free wax job? Man, that would be a serious wax job! That is a serious beard! I'm such a jerk...stop thinking and listen to this poor hairy woman.................so she just doesn't even eat ravioli anymore which is a shame and what were we going to be having for lunch today?

So I'm trying to answer her. I'm trying to conversate with this woman, all the while Evie is pinching my chin and I'm trying to keep eye contact, but my stupid eyes keep wandering down to the 'stache. It's about the most uncomfortable strange old lady conversation that I've ever had. And seriously, how does a woman grow a mustache and beard that thick? And then God layed the hammer down. Evie pinched me on the chin once again and it hurt so bad my eyes started watering. What the heck?! As I reached up to smack her hand away, I realized that she was not pinching me. I had been so fixated on the bearded lady that I couldn't discern the difference between a pinch and a child tugging on the 3 inch whisker that had grown out of a mole in my chin during our outing at Walmart!!! (I swear it was not there this morning!)

The shame. OH the shame. Nice to meet you, humility. I almost apologized to her outloud. Instead I smiled and listened to the rest of her story about her sister's husband and his love of pasta, and watched her walk away, all the while still talking to me, or Evie. I'm really not sure. Then I climbed into my cart and used my whisker to paddle myself at the speed of light to the tweezer section of the store. Ok, I made that up. What really happened was that I used my whisker as a lasso and Tarzan'd my hairy humiliated conceited judgemental ass out the store and immediately repented.

Moral of the story:
Women with whiskers... (say it with me) IT'S A BUMMER!