By myself anyway. Because people are weird, and they say weird things, and then I spend all day twitchy and nervous, wondering if I exist in an alternate reality.
This photo will make sense in a second.
Case in point, I was just at the library. As I walked toward the building, a man drove up to me in the parking lot. He yelled to me from within his car, but I couldn’t hear him because his window was rolled up.
“Pardon?” I said in Charades-ese, which was basically a shrug and a firm shake of the head, as if I had a gnat in my ear.
The man yelled again.
In order to hear him, I had to lean my head far inside his back window, which was rolled down, even though it made me uncomfortable to put any part of my body in a stranger’s car, because that’s how people become sisterwives in a backyard shed.
HIM: Where’s the food?
ME: I’m sorry. What food?
HIM: Don’t you know anything?
ME: I do.
HIM: So where’s the food?
ME: I don’t know. I’m here for books, sir.
HIM: Nevermind. I’ll find it.
ME: …
HIM: You can’t eat books!