Last night I ran into a fellow Special Needs Mom shopping at the local hot spot.
There I was, standing in line at the checkout, minding my own business, when the unthinkable happened.
She SPOKE to me.
Not being from the area (AND not being the most social of mammals), I’m always caught off guard when people talk to me.
Me in social situations = Ricky Bobby after his first interview post-win:
I’m also pretty horrible at placing faces out-of-context (I think that’s a thing–maybe to do with executivefunctioning; I’ll look into that). But not this time, thanks to a very memorable job-stopper face tattoo (for the record, it’s super-pretty, and by default makes this Mom ATLEAST 7 levels cooler than I’ll ever be).
“Your daughter rides the bus with my son.”
She continued making conversation. Apparently she had the pleasure of seeing Kaos “freak out” last week after putting her own kiddo on the bus.
What do I say? What…are…words?
I stood there like Caveman Spongebob, avoiding eye contact as much as possible, until a 2nd register opened. Mumbling a quick “nice to see you,” I paid for my stuff and escaped out into the night, mortified at my awkward asshattery.