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Scary Netto Lady
Nov. 24th, 2008 12:00 pmOh dear, Vi nodded off in her pushchair on the way back from Sing & Sign, so she'll probably not nap for very long :(
Still freezing here, although in true British fashion the weather has decided to go with freezing rain instead of fun, fluffy snow.
Oooh, I forgot to tell you about the Scary Woman when we went out for our walk yesterday. She seemed innocuous enough, looked like a student, maybe about 25ish, although she was carrying two Netto carrier bags, which is usually a fairly good Nutter indicator. We were talking Vi for a brisk Sunday stroll to the Cathedral and back.
"Excuse me," she said politely, in a tone that suggested she was about to ask directions, "but how old is your little girl?"
And odd question, but sometimes people do ask that sort of thing if they know a child that they think is a similar age or want to ask about local facilities for a kid her age and whatnot. "Nearly two," we answer.
"She your first?"
We are starting to grow a little wary, but it's not the first time I've been asked this question by a stranger... although before now they've always been fellow mums or Nice Old Ladies.
"Yes," we answer.
"You having any more?"
OK. Now it was getting a bit personal. That's a question you don't really ask people unless you know them.
Hubs gives her a vague "Hopefully", and picks Vi up. We start edging around her.
"Mm," mutters the woman, "you're brave." She pauses. "Do you like cats?"
"No," we lie in unison. I can only imagine that her follow-up if we were to say "Yes" would be to pull a bedraggled Tomcat out of one of the carrier bags and ask if we want to do a swap, or to start screaming that it's far, far better to adopt a cat than to bring another hungry mouth into the world when we already had one to be getting along with and Millennium Hand And Shrimp.
"Hmm," mutters the woman, as though pondering a really difficult quandry.
"Anyway," Hubs interjects with forced cheer, "have a nice afternoon".
We scurried off, but I was left with the nagging sensation that maybe she was from the future, trying to tell us something but not sure how to do it. If she'd asked what the year was and then muttered "Thank God... then there's still time" I'd be positive of it.
Still freezing here, although in true British fashion the weather has decided to go with freezing rain instead of fun, fluffy snow.
Oooh, I forgot to tell you about the Scary Woman when we went out for our walk yesterday. She seemed innocuous enough, looked like a student, maybe about 25ish, although she was carrying two Netto carrier bags, which is usually a fairly good Nutter indicator. We were talking Vi for a brisk Sunday stroll to the Cathedral and back.
"Excuse me," she said politely, in a tone that suggested she was about to ask directions, "but how old is your little girl?"
And odd question, but sometimes people do ask that sort of thing if they know a child that they think is a similar age or want to ask about local facilities for a kid her age and whatnot. "Nearly two," we answer.
"She your first?"
We are starting to grow a little wary, but it's not the first time I've been asked this question by a stranger... although before now they've always been fellow mums or Nice Old Ladies.
"Yes," we answer.
"You having any more?"
OK. Now it was getting a bit personal. That's a question you don't really ask people unless you know them.
Hubs gives her a vague "Hopefully", and picks Vi up. We start edging around her.
"Mm," mutters the woman, "you're brave." She pauses. "Do you like cats?"
"No," we lie in unison. I can only imagine that her follow-up if we were to say "Yes" would be to pull a bedraggled Tomcat out of one of the carrier bags and ask if we want to do a swap, or to start screaming that it's far, far better to adopt a cat than to bring another hungry mouth into the world when we already had one to be getting along with and Millennium Hand And Shrimp.
"Hmm," mutters the woman, as though pondering a really difficult quandry.
"Anyway," Hubs interjects with forced cheer, "have a nice afternoon".
We scurried off, but I was left with the nagging sensation that maybe she was from the future, trying to tell us something but not sure how to do it. If she'd asked what the year was and then muttered "Thank God... then there's still time" I'd be positive of it.
