Friends. Where I live is large and the buildings all connected, which makes for some very long corridors. I stepped off the elevator into one such corridor. Seeing a baby carriage at the other end of the the corridor I squealed silently, knowing that I could coo at the baby soon. Then I realized, given the odd silhouette of the baby carriage at the far end of the hall might not be newborn’s first visit to great grandma and more Fido’s gotta pee. Then I realized it didn’t even matter bc all that matters is that I’d be cooing at something shortly, and it didn’t matter the species and I silently squealed to myself again.
Then the anxiety kicked in — what if my cooing interrupted an intimate moment, or an argument? Maybe I should walk by and not acknowledge their ... whatever that thing is. But what if that marks me as the lady who doesn’t acknowledge other peoples great-grand-newborn thing can you believe it walked right by me so of course I panicked.
I was walking the fine line between being happy to coo but anxious about speaking toa stranger. You may know the spot.
I remind you I am in a very long corridor. The above plays out in my head as I get closer and closer and at some point I realize I am looking at a man sitting on a bench with his rollator and resting on the seat of the rollator, a full grocery bag.
Welcome to the home.
