In Which I Do NOT Drop a Baby

I have become rather adept at pretending to like children.  Really, the act is almost too good, as evidenced by the incident which took place on May 10th, at approximately 4:36 PM.

Let the record show that I was working.

A woman had come in to my place of business with her baby, a child who had only known life outside the womb for a few short weeks.  The baby was ensconced in a stroller/crib.  You know the ones...they look like a crib, but, you know, on wheels.  Woman wanted to try things on, and parked Baby in it's croller just outside the dressing room.

My coworker (let us call her Leela to protect her identity) was attempting to entertain the child with such devices as silly faces, and soft, cooing noises.  Baby seemed to enjoy this, and it kept Baby from becoming upset whilst it's mother donned various articles of clothing, such as are sold in the store.

Leela was called away, and Baby became agitated.  Not wanting Woman to feel she needed to stop in her quest for new garments, I stepped up to the croller, in full view of Baby, and smiled.  Baby smiled back.

I then spent several minutes engaged in what I believe is a rather cruel game known as "peek-a-boo".  I managed to convince Baby that I had disappeared from existence the moment my hands passed in front of my face, only to magically reappear upon drawing them away.  Baby seemed delighted to discover that I was still alive every time my face became visible.  Still, Baby began to twist and squirm, seeming to search for something which was absent.  Was Baby looking for Woman?  Or was Baby merely becoming distressed by the number of times I vanished into nothingness only to return whole and seemingly unharmed from that abyss.  How many times can one really visit such a place before one is simply gone for good, Baby wondered...perhaps.

Fortunately, Woman had completed her task, and relieved me from my duty to Baby.  I took those items she wished to call her own in exchange for money, and she picked up the fussing Baby, and cradled it in her arms lovingly.

But then, alas, a cardigan caught her eye, and it pleased her.  She wished to admire it on herself before deciding to own it, and she turned to me beseechingly.

"Do you mind holding her while I try this on?" quoth she.  My blood ran hot then cold.  My arms came up in a gesture of defense, and my feet took one or two shuffling steps backward.  Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion as several thoughts at once clamored for my attention.

Of course you can hold Baby...what could possibly go wrong?

What if I drop it...have I ever actually held a baby before?

You won't drop it, and really, can it be that much different from holding a cat?

Yes.  Yes it can be very different.  For one thing, cats land on their feet if you drop them.   Babies...erm...bounce.

But you were sort of getting on, you and Baby.  It's actually rather cute when it's not screaming...

But it can turn on you in an instant.  Oh sure, you're friends now, but any moment Baby will transform into a shrieking rage monster with huge, pointy teeth, and a taste for entrails.

Yes, better not.

"Oh, um...no, I'm not really..."

"Oh, OK."  Seeming to sense my fear, Woman set Baby back in the croller and proceeded to contemplate the cardigan.

I let out a deep sigh, and congratulated myself on having narrowly avoided disaster.

But this is a dangerous road I walk, pretending to like children.  Sometimes (and I only confess this to you because you are my closest confidant) I even think it might not be pretend.

They terrify me, and yet I am oddly intrigued by them.  After all, was I not once one of their ilk?

It is an interesting question.  Very interesting, indeed.

Regards,
Julia


PS-The above is a slightly exaggerated true story.  Also, I had a conversation about dinosaurs with a little girl yesterday, just so you know I'm not a complete monster.  We decided that while we would not like to meet a dinosaur in person, they are really cool.

Ghost Spider

Sheesh.  Every time I sign in to update my blog, there has been a complete overhaul of blogger.com, and they show me page after page explaining why the old blogger was crap, and this new version is the best thing since sliced bread, and I'm like, "OK, but can I still, you know, SEE my blog?  Cause I'm in a writing mood, and you're harshing my buzz, dude."

Ugh.  The window where I write the blog part of my blog is all different looking now.  I don't like it.  I fear change.  And just what, exactly, are all those buttons on the side?  NO!  DON'T TELL ME.  DON'T EXPLAIN ANYTHING, JUST LET ME WRITE, DAMMIT!

OK, I'm stalling.

Here's the thing.

This is the thing.

The thing is...

I have this story that I've been working (AKA long hours spent staring at the screen punctuated by short bursts of typing which ultimately result in one or two sentences) on for-what seems like-ever.  It's not finished.  Not even close.  But I'm oddly tempted to start posting it here anyway.  Just throw caution to the wind and let the pages fall where they may.  Hear that wind?  Some caution is about to SMACK you in the FACE!

"Chips" fall where they may.  I actually couldn't remember the real phrase for a moment, but "pages" seemed appropriate.

I know, I know: more stalling.

Let me tell you a true story:

The other day, I found a spider hanging out next to my bed.  I mean, right where I put my head, and this dude was just hanging there, like some kind of pervert, waiting to watch me sleep.

I caught him in a glass and then, because he was trying to make his escape, drowned him with water.

And now I feel bad.

Usually, I leave spiders alone.  They kill other bugs, which makes me happy, because then I don't have to kill them.  But when a spider is all up in my business, I tend to mush it.  Still, I try to make the deaths quick and painless.  So why did I drown this one?  I don't know.  I panicked.

I'm sorry, Mr. Spider, if I caused you undue pain.  Please don't rise as a spider-ghost and goad all your still-living spider friends into amassing an army and marching on my apartment at dawn, so that I may be dragged from my bed and sentenced to death by hanging.

Why hanging?  I don't know, I just figure spiders have a lot of rope to work with...

What is it with me and bug stories lately?  First Bee Pimp, now Ghost Spider?

I should maybe mention that I am drinking and blogging again.

Hey!  Don't you judge me!  Tuesday is like my Saturday.  I didn't work today and I don't work tomorrow.  Technically, this is my weekend.  I can do whatever I want.

And now I have succeeded in distracting myself and you from the whole purpose of this post...

Just kidding, I didn't forget about the whole caution v. wind thing.  Let me see if I can make anymore headway on this story, maybe clean up the first bit somewhat, and I'll think about posting some of it.

Lates,
Jules

Now where is the "post" button...

Seriously.

Where...?  Oh there it