“Are you KIDDING LADY?!” The guy yells at me as his baggy pants graze the 12″ wheel of my 3-year-old son’s bicycle. The bike, and my son, are perched atop my baby’s stroller which also holds our bags, and my baby girl. We are taking my son to school on the other side of the incomparable Central Square, aptly known as “Mental Square.” I was actually feeling so pleased with our progress; proud of my son for finding such an inventive way to cling to this stroller that was not designed to be clung to, delighted my baby was so content and grateful it was such a beautiful day. I was even impressed with myself, for being able to push all this business along in the first place, in this rickety stroller whose steering is, shall we say, “underwhelming.”
It’s not like I didn’t see them coming; these two guys, clearly headed for neither work nor school. It was simply a quick inventory of our respective loads that lead me to conclude, like, “Yeah, no. I don’t need to steer around these guys.” They were on foot and could easily be the ones to yield a few inches in order to share the sidewalk. I mean, they were only carrying cigarettes. And maybe some keys.
“Are you KIDDING LADY?!?” he snapped. Was I out of MY MIND? WHAT was I thinking?
Granted, how hilarious. Seriously, what a ridiculous knucklehead. Truly. But it was also an intriguing question. I mean, WAS I kidding? Hmm. About which part? Having… kids? Taking one of them to school in the morning? In a *stroller*? Was it that my toddler was surfing the stroller instead of riding the bike? That he has a bike in the first place? That there was an actual BABY in the stroller? Or that I am actually pushing this stuff?
OK, Dude with a ‘Tude. You got me. You’re right. I WAS kidding. You and your saggy ass jeans and cigarettes knew it all at a glance. And may I say your dedication to your trajectory is nothing less than admirable. I am humbled. Awed really. I apologize.
Just one more question: Who you calling “Lady” anyway, Punk?