Walking Home Past The Rehab Center...

I am frequently talked to, or more appropriately talked at. I sometimes talk back, but they don't really listen or care, and actually get a little freaked out when I say, "I'm just fine, how are you?" There's some stuttering and looking at me questioningly like - listen lady, our job is to shout out the crazy, yours is just to give me a dollar and keep walking.

Last night after coming home from some $2 burgers (with bw and tb and popcorn while you wait! yeah that's right. . . popcorn! while you wait!) I was walking past my favorite rehab center when these two people started a conversation that I'm used to, until it took an unexpected turn I'm definitely not used to.

"Do you see that girl?"
"Yeah, she's..."
"She's tall!"
"Yeah, she's..."
"She's basketball player tall!"
"Yeah!"
"You don't usually see girls that tall."
"No, well not like her. She's..."
"She's really tall for a white girl."
"I didn't know they made white girls like that."
"Hmmm...tall white girls. That's something."
"Maybe she's not white."
"Huh?"
"Maybe she's not really white."
"But we were just looking at her. I think she's white."
"You sure?"
"Well, now I don't know. Maybe she's not white."
"Maybe she's black."
"A tall black girl...that makes more sense."
"She's probably black."
"Now that you mention it..."
"Right?"
"That wasn't a tall white girl, I think that was a tall black girl."
"What girl?"


So, there's that. All this time I could be a tall black girl.

I love where I live.