if anyone ever needed proof that i was destined for a life of living statuary, today’s incident should be more than sufficient.
i was in newbury comics, just looking at racks of bumper stickers and patches and whatnot. now, before i continue with this story, i need to illustrate a] what i was wearing and b] how i was standing.
as i was internally giggling at the sticker that said “i wish morgan freeman narrated my life”, a young boy, maybe about eight or nine years old, reached out to touch my abdomen as he walked by. i moved away from his hand as soon as i saw it coming toward me, so he never made contact. i was so bewildered, i couldn’t form any words, but i gave him the most intense “what in the fucking fuck do you think you’re doing?!” glare i’ve ever given in my life. he looked back at me, horrified. the guy who was with him [father? brother?] asked the question my glare was asking, minus the profanities. the boy stammered nervously. “i thought she was a statue!”
people think it must be so hard for me to stand so still. i do it without even realizing i’m doing it.