Harumph. The dreaded days of, "Please excuse my son. I don't think he really meant to offend you with what he just said." have started. Let me share how I've been rudely ushered into this stage of life.
Shopping for shoes. (They're damned cute I might add.) As we make to leave the boys kinda ran through the door and under a woman who had some interesting proportions. She wasn't heavy all over, just very much in the front -- but not in the great with child kind of way. She was sweet to the boys and smiled, despite their rambunctious way of cutting her off. Coop looked up and then ran back to me. As soon as the large lady was out of earshot (thank goodness) he said to me, "Whoa, that lady had a really big belly." Everyone else that was standing in line to purchase shoes and working the counter heard. I felt really hot in the face.
Less than two hours later, we parked our weary little selves -- tired from a day of shopping -- on a cushy couch in the mall. On the couches next to us sat a family of three African-American adults. Coop took note and pointed directly at the man and asked me (loudly), "What's his name, the one with the black face?" On the surface, NOT as bad as it could have been -- except for the pointing and the blurting out "black face" -- but I was hot crimson because I knew he was actually trying to quiz me. To see if I recognized, who else, Barack Obama.
I just stood up, smiled at the family and murmured something about, "He's just so curious about everyone he sees." Then in my blinding embarrassment I ran the stroller smack into their couch. Seriously, when am I going to outgrow my klutzy-ness. Then I had to say, "Excuse me, I'm driving this thing under the influence of cookies. Heaven forbid I should put it down to steer this boat." Then waived my $3 vegan Nordstrom cookie in front of them as proof. Shoot. Me.