Mistaken identity

Today the kids and I were playing outside when Jude noticed a tan car parked across the road, with a man sitting in the driver's seat.

"Dada!"

"No buddy, that isn't Dada.  Dada is at work."

Can't convince that kid, though, when he thinks he is right.  As the man continued to sit in his car, shooting occasional glances across the street over the next half hour, Jude persisted to insist that it was Dada.  And it was his insistence that made me realize that the dude really had been sitting there for a while.  In a neighborhood full of kids.  Right when the school buses come thru.  Sketchy much?

We finally went inside to make lunch, and I shot glances out the window to see if sketchy dude was still there.  Yup.

So I called my sister.

"If there was a guy sitting in his car kitty-corner from your house shooting glances across the street every so often for over half an hour what would you do?"

Option A: Call the cops

Option B: Go ask sketchy dude what business he has in your 'hood.

I decided to go with Option B.  Auburn cops are overworked enough.

Out the door I marched, across the street, and up to the car.

Once within a few feet, I could see what I hadn't been able to see because of the sun glare on the glass . . . two elderly ladies in the car with sketchy dude.  Suddenly the dude seemed a little less sketchy.

"Excuse me, I don't want to be rude, but do you have a reason to be sitting out here in your car?  We have a lot of kids in this neighborhood, so I just have to ask."

Not-so-sketchy dude smiled pleasantly as he replied, "We are Jehovah's Witnesses, just waiting for our friend Martha who's talking to your neighbor."

Sure enough, Little Old Lady #3 was sitting over on my neighbor's steps, deep in discussion.

Seeing as there were six hungry children inside my house waiting for lunch, I thanked them for putting up with my questioning and skedaddled.

Mistaking the neighborhood Jehovah's Witness for a crazed kidnapper was not my first mistaken identity of the week.  Nor was it the most embarrassing.  No, that award goes to yesterday's run-in at Marden's.

Sophia, Jude, and I were at Marden's to pick up fabric for a few projects, and as soon as we passed the bathroom Sophia decided she had to go RIGHT NOW!  Jude decided he needed to as well, and started hollering "POOP!  POOP!" at the top of his lungs every few seconds.

We diverted into the bathroom, where Jude continued his very loud exclamations, and Sophia took care of business.

Upon exiting the stall, we saw a very scruffy unshaven Latino man wearing work jeans and a plaid shirt walk into the bathroom.

The ladies bathroom.

"Excuse me," I said, "but this is the ladies room."

The man ignored me and continued into the stall.

I stood there for a minute, unsure of what to do.  Say something else?  Do nothing?  Tell a Marden's employee?  Perhaps he doesn't speak English?

"Sir, the men's room is right next door, this is the women's bathroom."

At that the "man" popped the stall door open, grabbed his plaid shirt covered boobs, and shook them at me.  Then darted back into his/her stall.

While I stood there gaping.

When I finally came to I  threw Sophia back in the cart, said "Oh . . . ok," and dashed out the door, hoping that she/he was not headed to the fabric section.

In my defense, anyone in my shoes would have thought it was a man.  I'm not talking five o'clock shadow . . . . more like 5 day growth.  Add in the baseball cap, jeans, little potbelly, and plaid shirt . . . it all screamed man to me.  Was the boob shaking really necessary?

It's probably a good thing I got called off work tonight.  With my current track record I might ask someone about their due date when they aren't really pregnant, or dig another hole in an equally embarrassing fashion.  I'm not superstitious, but these things do come in threes, right?