People are strange (still)

I meant to write about this the other day and totally forgot. On Sunday, in a minor miracle (not quite on the level of the loaves and fishes at Cana or Lazarus coming out of the tomb, but slightly more miraculous than the immaculate reception) we made it to church. On time.

OK, Vicki and Jane made it on time. Samson and I were parking the car and so arrived after the opening procession. But we were still there in time for the first reading. In any event, we went to Mass and then met up with friends for some coffee afterwards.

We had just about finished when an elderly woman (sort of a well-coiffed combination of Cruella De Ville, the old woman from Titanic, and the middle Stygian witch) walked past the table, stopped to look at Samson, and proclaimed: "He's too pretty to be a boy. He should have been a girl."

I'm sure somewhere in the archives of Emily Post there's an appropriate response to this kind of gender-defiant compliment, but I was, uncharacteristically, at a loss for words. I thanked her with a puzzled look and pointed to Jane, lamely offering "well, his sister is right there." To which she said, "Oh, she's sweet. You should let me have her."

Again, I had no response at the ready. Which didn't matter, as it turned out, because she then let us all know the following: "I like them at this age. Up until three. Then you can have 'em back." And with that, she was gone.

So now I'm wondering if this woman lives in a gingerbread house somewhere on the edge of town and has a pen full of kids who she keeps until three and then returns to their rightful guardians.

I'm also wondering if somewhere out there is a two-year-old little girl whose parents are going to be told: "She's too handsome to be a girl. She should have been a boy."