Tag Archives: Awkward Encounters

Conflict Aversion

Being Awkward/Dumb Stuff I Do, Mental Health, , , , , ,

Yesterday Eric and I took our niece to Claire’s to pick out a bunch of jewelry and accessories for her birthday. I went to the register to pay, and the cashier asked for my email. I immediately gave it to him. Eric rolled his eyes.

Eric: “Now you’re just going to just get a bunch of emails from Claire’s every day.”

Me (muttering through a fake smile): “That’s fine, I’ll unsubscribe later.”

Eric: “Why don’t you just not give him your email?”

BECAUSE, ERIC. I WOULD RATHER RECEIVE 57 DAILY EMAILS FROM CLAIRE’S UNTIL THE DAY I DIE THAN PARTICIPATE IN A POTENTIALLY AWKWARD EXCHANGE WITH THE CASHIER WHO IS JUST TRYING TO DO HIS JOB.

As soon as this thought went through my head, though, I realized how introvert-insane it was, and I was pretty ashamed. So when the cashier then asked for my phone number, I decided to not be as forthcoming.

Me: “Do you really need my phone number?”

Cashier: “Yes, to complete it.”

I had no idea what the ‘it’ was that the cashier needed to complete. He could not have been more purposefully vague. Was the “it” my purchase? A registration to receive Claire’s discounts? A lifetime subscription to never-ending texts with no opt-out option? Approval to let them test their products on my current and any future unborn children? Admission to a Pentecostal cult?

It couldn’t be possible that this children’s jewelry store REQUIRED your phone number to make a purchase. That would be nuts. And while a clogged inbox doesn’t really bother me, constant promotional texts softly threaten my will to live, so this is where I needed to draw the line. This was my clear-cut opportunity to just say no, and not be such a conflict-averse pushover of a human.

Eric looked at me. I looked at Eric. Eric gave me an encouraging nod. I knew what had to be done.

So I turned back to the cashier, took a deep breath, stared him straight in the eye, and in my clearest, bravest, most confident voice, slowly enunciated all ten digits of my phone number.

I am who I am.

See you on the compound.

Girly Stuff I Never Learned

Awkward Encounters, Being Awkward/Dumb Stuff I Do, motherhood, parenthood, , , , , , ,

When Nora announced she wanted to take ballet lessons, I was of course supportive, but also amused because as a child (and adult!), I was the furthest thing from a graceful dancer. Or any kind of dancer. I don’t exactly walk straight.

I was a soccer player. And generally a tomboy who partook in nothing classically “girly.”

But when your child is excited about something (that is actually productive and not mind-numbingly stupid, like Candyland or football), you hop on board. So I got her the necessary gear and dropped her off for her very first ballet class. I was pretty proud of how professional she looked in her lavender leotard, pink ballet slippers and ballerina bun. No one could ever guess her mom had to google “stuff for ballet?” in order to get her ready for class.

Then when I picked her up…

Instructor: “Hi there! You’re Nora’s mom?”

Me: “I am!”

Instructor: “In case you’re wondering why Nora’s barefoot— I had her take off her shoes for class.”

Me: “Oh, were they hurting her?”

Instructor: “No, she couldn’t point her toes in them.”

Me: “Oh. Because they’re too small?”

Instructor: “No. Because they’re not ballet slippers.”

Me: “They’re not?”

Instructor: “No.”

Me: “They look like ballet slippers to me!”

Instructor: “Ok. They are not, though.”

Me: “How can one even tell these aren’t ballet slippers?”

Instructor: “Well, you can tell because they’re not slippers. And they’re not, you know…for ballet.”

Me:

“Well then what kind of shoes ARE these?”

Instructor: “Pink shoes. Flats. They are pink flats. With a rounded toe.”

Me: “For…?”

Instructor: “Walking? Wearing to school? Or a party? They’re for anything, really. Except, of course, ballet.”

Me: “Ok, well. You can see my confusion.”

Instructor: “I cannot.”