Thursday, December 22, 2005
Strangers in the Night
The other day, I was at the supermarket magazine rack, perusing the personal finance periodicals in the off chance that some day I have some personal finances. A woman came around the corner, pushing a cart with her young son at her side. "Stanger danger, Mommy! Stranger danger!" the little boy alerted his mother, pointing directly at me. I figured that maybe she would reprimand him for yelling, or maybe tell him that it's not polite to point at people. Instead, she simply backed him up. 
"Yes, stranger danger," she said. I gave her a look that attempted to say "Uh, I hear you and I'm a real person, so you probably shouldn't talk about me like I'm not here." Clearly, my expression did not convey the sentiment correctly, as they disappeared around the other side of the rack momentarily, but focused on my presence again when they returned. The mother picked up a magazine on the rack about 6 feet to my left, while the boy fixed his stare on me again. He began walking slowly and deliberately toward me as if stalking prey, keeping his eyes on me at all times in case I made any false moves. "Mommy," he announced in a loud and slightly nervous voice "I'm walking near the stranger! I'm walking near the stranger, but I'm okay!"
"Okay, honey!" she shouted back. For a split second -- just a split second, not even a full one -- I thought it would be funny to pick the kid up and run to the next aisle, possibly shouting "Danger! Danger!". I didn't, though. That kid is going to grow up to be afraid of his own shadow.
Take the Stranger Danger quiz here. This is sure to make your kid afraid of firemen and people who are about to get married. On a positive note, they will be deathly afraid of the creepy old guy with the pistol.
Some of you have expressed concern over the presently dysfunctional comment section. For now, if you have any comments, questions, or insightful prose for me, you can send it to mesteeblogger@gmail.com. If I'm not back before Sunday, have a happy Chrismahanukwanzica. I'm out like a fat girl in dodgeball.
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"Yes, stranger danger," she said. I gave her a look that attempted to say "Uh, I hear you and I'm a real person, so you probably shouldn't talk about me like I'm not here." Clearly, my expression did not convey the sentiment correctly, as they disappeared around the other side of the rack momentarily, but focused on my presence again when they returned. The mother picked up a magazine on the rack about 6 feet to my left, while the boy fixed his stare on me again. He began walking slowly and deliberately toward me as if stalking prey, keeping his eyes on me at all times in case I made any false moves. "Mommy," he announced in a loud and slightly nervous voice "I'm walking near the stranger! I'm walking near the stranger, but I'm okay!""Okay, honey!" she shouted back. For a split second -- just a split second, not even a full one -- I thought it would be funny to pick the kid up and run to the next aisle, possibly shouting "Danger! Danger!". I didn't, though. That kid is going to grow up to be afraid of his own shadow.
Take the Stranger Danger quiz here. This is sure to make your kid afraid of firemen and people who are about to get married. On a positive note, they will be deathly afraid of the creepy old guy with the pistol.
Some of you have expressed concern over the presently dysfunctional comment section. For now, if you have any comments, questions, or insightful prose for me, you can send it to mesteeblogger@gmail.com. If I'm not back before Sunday, have a happy Chrismahanukwanzica. I'm out like a fat girl in dodgeball.
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