This morning I was killing some time before our 11am church service and I started chatting with a lady to whom I’ve probably spoken with 8, maybe 10 times. I mean, it’s not at all like we’ve had hour long heart-to-hearts it’s always just been relatively brief social exchanges.
The Standard Comment Lady: Oh, she’s gotten so big hasn’t she? (Thankfully, speaking about The Duchess, not moi.)
Moi: Yeah, she’s pretty big for 10 months. She’s pretty tall.
The Kind, but Misguided Lady: (as The Duchess holds my hands and does some crazy high-step, arch-backed walk) And she’s walking and not even a year. So clever.
Moi: Well, I mean, she can’t walk on her own, but yeah, she can hold onto things and get around pretty well.
The Mistaken Lady: So, do you think she’ll have an English accent or an Irish accent?
Moi: Um, well, I’m American, so I’d be pretty shocked if it was Irish.
The Totally Mortified Lady: Oh. Oh my. I thought. I always thought you were Irish.
She literally put her face in her hands and looked as though she wanted to die, and I guess understandably, because we’d chatted enough for her to properly hear me. I tried to lift the awkwardness by saying it happens all of the time. Then, I tipped my hat, ate my Lucky Charms, and Riverdanced to the nearest exit.
I mean, maybe I do sound like this: