After getting off of the phone that morning with 80’s Lady, I was both mortified and naive. While 80’s Lady had dropped a watermelon sized bomb on me, I basically thought she was lying.I mean, it’s what she does.
She is a professional liar.
Wait–do not be mistaken;
By professional, I mean she lies regularly, likely profiting from it, and not the other professional, like that if there was a sports ranking for liars she would be batting in the World Series.
She is at the t-ball level as far as that goes– except she isn’t 3 feet tall and doesn’t have a miniature glove.
Anyway, after the phone call, I had sort of forgotten the fact that 80’s Lady ensured me I would be stalked that day. Retaining any information that early in the a.m. is a miracle, let alone remembering that she had donated me as a friend to her allegedly long,lost daughter.
So I went about my morning normally forgetting the intricate lacings of insanity in my life.
Well, I forgot until I was walking to one of my classes, and I felt like someone was following me. Once again, my brain had blocked out all of the looney. So I just assumed it was someone else walking too closely behind.
After a while, I noticed that the person hadn’t turned off or went a different direction.
Then, it dawned on me.
80’s Lady Jr. was following me around in the most conspicuous of ways. She was doing the walking equivalent of riding someone’s ass on the interstate– at full speed.
Honestly, nice girl or not, I was not enjoying the fact that I had somehow ended up a pawn in one of 80’s Lady’s games. (I guess it would be difficult to be the pawn of someone who at their best could only master Connect 4. But you know what I mean.)
Being the semi-asshole that I am, I walked around way longer than necessary leading this poor girl in circles. But I couldn’t help it? Who just aimlessly follows someone around with a mere 12 inches of space between them?
I was curious about how long this girl would trail me. After ten minutes, (Yes, TEN MINUTES) I abruptly turned around.
Facing her, I said, “Hi. I’m Amanda. Do you need something? Because not to be rude or anything, but I can feel you breathing on my neck. That would not be a bad thing if you were Scott Patterson, but you aren’t. ”
She looked rather startled. It was not my intention to be rude to her. I’m not a rude gal. In fact, I have an uncanny ability to tolerate the odd. However, a girl can only pursued by a human shadow for so long.
“Oh, sorry. I just wasn’t sure what to say. 80’s Lady said you wanted to meet me,”80’s Lady Jr. sputtered out.
And that’s where it began. The whole reason I really wanted to avoid this poor girl. I knew I would have a difficult time deciding what I should and shouldn’t say regarding the woman who had carted her around for nine months.
Since I was schooled on a scholarly level concerning the ‘if you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all’ rule by both my mother and Thumper, I followed it. While I might not be the best at being a proxy for two people reuniting, I am good at following rules.
“Nice to meet you,” I replied.
We had a short conversation after that about stupid things like the school wasting money on elaborate water fountains but cutting the budget for paper, and other things like that.
I even saw her again the other day, and thankfully, she just waved. I didn’t want to have to break out my pepper spray if she got hot on my trail again.
Really, she seems like a nice young lady. She appeared to be normal, and thankfully, an affinity for acid washed jeans isn’t genetic.
Also, I realize that it isn’t really my job to educate her about what a whack-job 80’s Lady is. Unfortunately, she’ll probably figure it out in a short amount of time anyhow. 80’s Lady does not conceal her crazy. As far as my forced friendship with her goes, I guess we’ll be friends, because it isn’t her fault that at one point 80’s Lady made up a random lie and told the whole family I left a WHOLE Q-TIP lodged in Allie’s ear canal. (They obviously knew it wasn’t true. But still.)
80’s Lady is trouble. Jr can figure that out, and do with it what she wants.
(And don’t worry, that story about the Q-tip is coming eventually too.)
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