Or something like it. I still have it, while covering in public, lest you think I am all Miss-Confidence in my headscarf.
The other night (Sunday), we went out for a free scoop of ice cream of the best darned ice cream ever tasted which our neighbors make at their shop from local milk and no fillers and HFCS. But I digress. 🙂 In walks a neighbor (free ice cream for the neighbors night) we hadn’t met yet. Wifey is a pristine example of lil’ Southern gal, with the blonde highlights, make up, and cute figure. Think Reese Witherspoon. Of course, very pleasant couple, with a chubby blonde boy toddler in tow and equally forbidding Southern Mother-in-law. Yeah. Dad really likes to chat with ALL the neighbors and memorizes their names as he walks the dog.
We exchange pleasantries while I am inwardly feeling like an inconsequential dork. The feeling is hard to describe. I feel partly like an alien landing in their suburban paradise. You know, the “Uhhh, I don’t belong here. Wrong number, sorry.” Click. The next feeling is inferiority. I don’t have a new brick tract house (wouldn’t want one anyway) with a dog (do want one) and a baby (really want one). If I were forced to stay in a social situation like that, I would come close to a panic attack.
By the mercy of God, I do not have those feelings regularly. I hang with folks who like me or dress like me. We want to move into the town proper soon where the college students think we are cool and the old people don’t care. Comfort zones. I needs it.