In my ever searching quest to find myself and not annoy the general public at large, I’ve been trying to be quieter. Trying to not randomly open doors into other peoples’ Mercedes. Not leaving ten empty spaces ahead of me at the pharmacy line, making cranky eighty year olds in line for Viagra refills put their arthritic middle finger up at me. (Since nothing else is going up, apparently.) Not getting to the front of crowded Starbucks lines and taking ten minutes deciding between latte, soy and that overpriced holiday drink that smells like cinnamon but tastes like a faux version of J-Lo’s perfume mixed with diesel bought at TJ Max for $1.99. That kind of thing.

So today, while at my daugher’s preschool, I let all 6’1 of me hunker into a chair in the lobby. I didn’t look up. I didn’t engage in conversation. I didn’t catch the eye of my favorite assistants and ask about how their bunny rabbit who got in a fight with a skunk last Tuesday at 9PM was doing. I just filled out my teacher appreciation cards.

But some people gave me the stink eye anyway. You know, those moms. The ones with kids named after streets or cities. The ones with hair-do’s flippier than Jennifer Aniston but not quite as bowl headed as Carol Brady’s. 


“No, I’m just being insecure,” I thought. “Stop it, Andrea! You are not doing anything out of the ordinary.”

 
After what seemed to be a rather long stare from a woman who looked like Barbie crossed with Angelina Jolie’s lips (or that Octuplet mom’s), I finished up my last card, grabbed my cup of coffee from the table next to me, and started to leave.

 That’s when I noticed the thing in my hand that had these good Catholic women snickering.


More of my writing can be found daily at BabyCenter and Good Housekeeping.

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