I Have a Home. I am Not With Child.

It’s really hot here so this morning I decided to try out the Kitsilano beachside saltwater pool. It was lovely, but very cold and upon surfacing after diving in, I tried really hard not to show my surprise (gasping for air, horrified look on my face). After a hardy swim (the pool is over 130 meters long), I hit the beach to dry off. With my earphone buds fixed in my ears (listening to Norah Jones) I actually fell asleep, which is a miracle because I RARELY nap. I used to nap when I was in University, but, you know, I was busy then. Anyway, I had this weird dream, a sort of half dream, that I was dancing on the beach. Except I was pulling off some crazy moves, like Napoleon Dynamite. Except the difference was that I was naked. Yes. And yet everyone on the beach was cheering me on? I woke suddenly in a panic and took my second deep gasp for air of the day.

On my MP3 player when I awoke?
Jamiroquai  – Canned Heat.

I swear.


In the afternoon I drove through stinky traffic to the north shore to buy some vacuum bags from Linens-N-Things. Vacuum bags, for those of you who don’t know, are the best things for when you’re trying to move across country and are fitting everything you own into one vehicle. Seriously. Like twelve hundred sweaters sucked down into a flat board no thicker than a pizza. It’s a beautiful thing to watch.

Anyway, I also picked up some groceries while I was out and two strange things happened to me, things that involved assumptions about my person. Things that made me laugh:

(1)

I was in the grocery store parking lot looting through my wallet for change— which was difficult because I had my mismatch of reusable grocery bags slung on my shoulders— when I realized I had four quarters but didn’t have the Loonie (!) required to borrow a shopping cart. Disgruntled and sweaty, I politely approached a woman who was walking to her car to ask her if she could help me out with some change-swapping. But when I held out my hand and started to ask her for help she looked at me briefly— my sweaty face, my deshevled beach hair, my outstretched begging hand, my copious amounts of hobo-esque baggage hanging from my body— and then scrunched up her nose as if I were a pubic hair found in her soup and wagged a finger and head. No words, just a wagging finger and head. No.

It took me awhile to realize what happened, but in short? She thought I was homeless.


(2)

I was wearing one of my favorite dresses today because it’s super roomy and breezy in hot weather. HOWEVER, it does make me look a bit…pregnant. In the grocery store line-up there was an old man in front of me who, although physically fit, was mentally…struggling. He kept forgetting the total as he counted out his change and then was cracking jokes to cover it up. He was so sweet and so I kept laughing super loud at his jokes to make him feel better. I guess all that laughing called too much attention to myself because next thing I knew he was helping me with my groceries. Confused, I thanked him graciously, to which he finally said, “A woman of your condition needs to take it easy”. Again, it took me awhile to realize what was happening, but in short? He thought I was pregnant. I decided that it was best not to say anything because, let’s face it, who wants to be corrected on assuming a person is pregnant? No one. And I certainly wasn’t going to make this sweet funny old man feel bad. So I just laughed and said thank you and then tried my best to keep my mouth shut, because I’m a VERY bad liar. Groceries packed, I thought I was home free except as I was signing my receipt he asked me when I was due. I took a stab. “Uhh, five months?” Now the cashier perked up, “I have two kids…..blah blah blah” and I was suddenly swept into a whirlwind of baby talk. But I kept my mouth shut— the best thing to do if you’re a bad liar— and signed my receipt as fast a possible, thanked the man again and was on my way.

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