I’m adult, I have a grown up job, a grown up apartment, and “big girl” bills to prove it.
Everyone once in a while I have to remind myself of that because of run-ins like the one I had this weekend.
I was visiting my parents in the town I grew up in on Sunday. I had planned to run some local errands, get my nails done, and make dinner for the folks. All very grown up stuff.
Ahem…anyway.
I walked in to the nail salon and saw one of my 6th grade teachers. Ms. McLaughlin. I immediately became 11 years old. I smoothed down my unruly hair, took my hands out of my pockets, stood up straight, and timidly asked one of the workers for a manicure.
I took my seat, every once in a while sneaking a glance at Mc. McLaughlin. Did she see me? Wait, she smiled?, oh, eyes front.
I pretended to act like a “big girl” and made a conscious effort to not swing my legs in the chair.
(gasp) Here’s my chance! She was getting up to leave and had to walk by me.
Apparently I was just creepy enough throughout the last half hour by looking over at her, waiting for her to recognize me, that she stopped by my chair.
In a tiny voice I said, “Ms. McLaughlin?” (You never know, she could be divorced by now) “I was your student at Story Elementary.”
“Hi,” she said in a teacher sweet voice. “Remind me of your name?”
“M-M-Mary Beth Knight.”
She swore she remembered, asked how old I was now, made a comment about her own age, asked what college I went to and where I was living/working. I think I managed to stutter something about working close to downtown in Human Resources. She told me to pass along her greeting to my folks.
“Yes ma’am,” I nodded as if I were sent home with a note from the teacher.
Seriously? Ugh.
I wanted to chase after her and tell her, “I’m an adult! I have a grown up job! A grown up apartment!”
But instead I sat in the nail salon chair, feet swinging, smiling big because she remembered me.
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