So. Weekend pass.
The Mum has been home since Friday afternoon, and for the most part is behaving sensibly. Has done some household chore-stuff, is not spending extra time curled up in bed, and is having (relatively) sane conversations.
However:
1. Because she remembered the spot on Arlo's nose being a different size and/or shape, she decided he wasn't really Arlo. I think we've settled that issue, though.
2. She needed me to clarify what sort of geek I am. She specifically asked me to assure her I'm not the kind of geek that bites the heads off animals. I was actually surprised by how much that hurt my feelings. Go figure, she can still do it.
Xmas Day thing:
Coming home from work on Xmas morning, I had to walk around to the elevators at New West station, because the escalator was out of service again (way to go, Translink).
Coming around the corner of the former Salvation Army store, a car pulled into what used to be the bus loop, and the driver said something to me. I turned to look, figuring this was someone lost or just wondering why the station looked closed, and it's a well-dressed man in an expensive car, holding up $20.
"Do you need anything? Do you need a ride, maybe? I can give you twenty dollars."
I was stunned. I mean, I'm a big woman in not-ratty clothes, and I couldn't understand how he'd decided I was either a charity case or a hooker. I kept thinking, But it's Xmas, what? What are you doing?
"Dude. Be serious. No." So I'm not eloquent, sue me.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry." He rolled up his window and tore ass out of the bus loop - backwards - and that was it. I got on the elevator and went home. It was such a surreal little encounter, I didn't mention it to anyone, but it bothers me.
Was this guy one of those people who appears to be doing something nice/charitable, and then you find out ten years later he's got a collection of severed human breasts and penises artfully arranged under glass in his basement dungeon/bunker? If that's the case, WTF did he want with me? And if he's really just some expensive asshole who figures he has to pay for a handjob on Xmas morning, why me?
Hell, that's the point of my persistent irritation. Why ME?
However:
1. Because she remembered the spot on Arlo's nose being a different size and/or shape, she decided he wasn't really Arlo. I think we've settled that issue, though.
2. She needed me to clarify what sort of geek I am. She specifically asked me to assure her I'm not the kind of geek that bites the heads off animals. I was actually surprised by how much that hurt my feelings. Go figure, she can still do it.
Xmas Day thing:
Coming home from work on Xmas morning, I had to walk around to the elevators at New West station, because the escalator was out of service again (way to go, Translink).
Coming around the corner of the former Salvation Army store, a car pulled into what used to be the bus loop, and the driver said something to me. I turned to look, figuring this was someone lost or just wondering why the station looked closed, and it's a well-dressed man in an expensive car, holding up $20.
"Do you need anything? Do you need a ride, maybe? I can give you twenty dollars."
I was stunned. I mean, I'm a big woman in not-ratty clothes, and I couldn't understand how he'd decided I was either a charity case or a hooker. I kept thinking, But it's Xmas, what? What are you doing?
"Dude. Be serious. No." So I'm not eloquent, sue me.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry." He rolled up his window and tore ass out of the bus loop - backwards - and that was it. I got on the elevator and went home. It was such a surreal little encounter, I didn't mention it to anyone, but it bothers me.
Was this guy one of those people who appears to be doing something nice/charitable, and then you find out ten years later he's got a collection of severed human breasts and penises artfully arranged under glass in his basement dungeon/bunker? If that's the case, WTF did he want with me? And if he's really just some expensive asshole who figures he has to pay for a handjob on Xmas morning, why me?
Hell, that's the point of my persistent irritation. Why ME?