Not too long after Mills had come home, (meaning days)
my best friend Lolly decided we should go out to dinner. I was so deep in the newborn fog that I
found it completely acceptable to venture out with five-day dirty hair, jeans
that barely passed the “can people smell these?” test, and possibly day-old
make up with some fresh mascara and lip gloss slapped on top. This also reads like me (pre-baby)
scrambling to make it to a function after a Real Housewives marathon on TV.
We met at a local barbeque place in the middle of a row of
restaurants on a quaint street near my house. Lolly picked a table outside claiming, “some fresh air would
be good for me”. She could probably
smell my jeans. It was so good to
just sit there, holding my baby, talking to my best friend and enjoy the quiet
As the waiter took our order, I noticed a very tall man all
the way at the end of the row of shops shuffling down the sidewalk. I didn’t think much of it other than,
“Huh, he is rocking those overalls.
Wonder where my overalls are?”
We continued to laugh and talk and several passers
by complimented us on my tiny bundle. I smiled at them, my eyes lingering as they walked away watching for signs of "did you smell her?" Right
about the time our waiter delivered our drinks, the man in the overalls
approached our table. Let me set
the scene for you. This
gentleman was not one day younger than 126 years old. He was African American and dressed in said overalls, a plaid
shirt, a trucker hat and some work shoes.
To say he stopped and stared at us is an understatement. It would have been less awkward if we’d
just pulled up a chair for him. After
what felt like 17 minutes of silence, he gave me the once over and peered at Mills as if double checking something. (he sort of growled) to me, “Times
sure have changed since my day, little lady. Girls like you didn’t have babies like this. You must be married to one of them
Lolly caught on sooner than me. I know this because I heard her choke on her Dr. Pepper and
then try and stifle any remaining noise.
She is the epitome of graciousness. Me? Not so much.
I hadn’t yet gotten used to the comments from all of the general population and so
it threw me a bit. I just stammered for a minute and then blurted out, “No, no
sir! My husband is a pharmacist!”
Methuselah starts laughing and clapping and slapping his
knee until we can see tears rolling down his face. As he turns to walk away, he is shaking his head and we hear
him say, “A black pharmacist?? Now that just beats everything!”