You know when you were a kid, and, being at waist-height eye level of normal sized adults, you would often run up to and hug or attack strangers in public ex. at the grocery store, thinking they were your parents? Well, I've grown up to proper height these days (ok, fine, I'm still a tiny little white girl) and I seem to be stuck with this childhood problem. Granted, I'm awkward pretty much 24/7, but the stranger hug, or even the stranger shoulder tap or overenthusiastic hello seems to be programmed into my DNA.
I have sought long and hard for a cure, including a prescription for glasses, more careful monitoring of my actions, and yet still - I find myself almost daily reaching out to a stranger, fully convinced they're a pal. Yesterday, whilst picking up my blog partner Lori from the airport, I even slowed to a halt at the curb to retrieve her ... and it was an old fat lady (Sorry, Lori!!) So what do I do? Accept my fate as a lover to the anonymous? Revel in my awkwardity? (Note: this is a new word I just invented this moment. Lovesit!) I suppose I've run out of options.
Moral of the story: next time a stranger reaches out for a hug; go for it. It's probably me ... and I probably don't know any better.
-Li
PS. This blog will be featuring a fun new game! For every 3 days that my blog partner Lori forgets to post, I will post an embarassing picture of her from my iPhoto archive. Enjoy, readers!
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