International Day
It finally happened! Oh, this has been the longest month in... a while. Ugh. So tired. So sore. But! It went off!
We scrounged up enough volunteers for the flag ceremony, which was wonderful. We still participated in it, but far more indirectly. (Neither of us were holding flags!) The other troops all had ... at least decent presentations. (The little Brownies were so adorable. They wrote the "9" on their troop banner backwards so it was a "P" and it was adorable and I do not know why, and also I am using the word "adorable" far too much lately.)
Then during the time where everyone goes around and checks out all the other tables? ZERG SWARM. Ooooh, my goodness. We had tea. Tea and scones. WE WERE MAULED. DEMOLISHED. RAVAGED. (Not to be confused with "Ravage'd," which would imply we were tackled by a large, metal cat that turns into a cassette. "Ravage: Serial Tackler" is on my interests list for a reason.) We didn't have any activities or any interesting posters. We only had tea (and sugar and milk and lemon, but whatever), and we could not get them to leave us alone.
...Now, the oddest thing about all this, though, was, somehow - and I have no idea how this happened - somehow, the girls all became convinced that I am actually British! Like, from London. They were asking me what it was like, and did I like it here in the USA better, and how was it different and...
Why does this keep happening?
Oh, my God. I'm so confused.
It... it makes some degree of sense over the internet because you can't hear me talking...! I sound like a Vermonter, which makes sense considering I live in Vermont. By this I mean, there are 25 letters in my alphabet because no one pronounces "T" in this state unless absolutely necessary ("I'm a Vermon'er. Whahd abou'dih?"), and also I am distinctly not British. (Naugh' Briddish.)
We scrounged up enough volunteers for the flag ceremony, which was wonderful. We still participated in it, but far more indirectly. (Neither of us were holding flags!) The other troops all had ... at least decent presentations. (The little Brownies were so adorable. They wrote the "9" on their troop banner backwards so it was a "P" and it was adorable and I do not know why, and also I am using the word "adorable" far too much lately.)
Then during the time where everyone goes around and checks out all the other tables? ZERG SWARM. Ooooh, my goodness. We had tea. Tea and scones. WE WERE MAULED. DEMOLISHED. RAVAGED. (Not to be confused with "Ravage'd," which would imply we were tackled by a large, metal cat that turns into a cassette. "Ravage: Serial Tackler" is on my interests list for a reason.) We didn't have any activities or any interesting posters. We only had tea (and sugar and milk and lemon, but whatever), and we could not get them to leave us alone.
...Now, the oddest thing about all this, though, was, somehow - and I have no idea how this happened - somehow, the girls all became convinced that I am actually British! Like, from London. They were asking me what it was like, and did I like it here in the USA better, and how was it different and...
Why does this keep happening?
Oh, my God. I'm so confused.
It... it makes some degree of sense over the internet because you can't hear me talking...! I sound like a Vermonter, which makes sense considering I live in Vermont. By this I mean, there are 25 letters in my alphabet because no one pronounces "T" in this state unless absolutely necessary ("I'm a Vermon'er. Whahd abou'dih?"), and also I am distinctly not British. (Naugh' Briddish.)