tag, you're it - mysteries of my front yard- napa, ca
wednesday, while at work, i met a six-year-old named georgia. she was the wandering, curious daughter of a client who was busy browsing around the sale racks. georgia was your typical, bratty-seeming little rascal, but i'm a sucker for anyone under three feet, so i gave her the chance that any single-digit person deserves. her interest in me was clearly reluctant--she, keeping her distance near the tweed-upholstered seats. eventually though, her curiosity got the best of her. our interaction went something like this:
me: "how's it going?"
me: "oh good. what's your name?"
g: "georgia. what's your name."
me: "leah. how old are you?"
g: "six. ::long pause:: are you getting a cold, or is that what your voice really sounds like?"
me: "this is what my voice really sounds like."
me: "does my voice sound weird?"
me: "how old are you again?...oh right, you're six."
g: how old are you?"
g: "are you still in school?"
me: "nope, i'm finished with school. i'm old."
g: "sixteen?" i shake my head no. "seventeen." shake. "eighteen." shake. "nineteen-twenty-twenty-one. twenty-two..."
::she couldn't remember what came after twenty-two.::
me: nod. "good guess."
[funny to think that when i was in the sixth grade, a second-grader thought i was twenty-five. probably because i was then as tall as her mother.]