Okay. I'll admit it, I added the high part. And I might have been the one to suggest the time too...
I don't know why, but possibly because I just might be the queen of stereotypes and the permeation of them (see, once 'your' people only total about 5 mil you tend to think everyone else can also be lumped in with their 'kind'), when someone mentions Rio Grande, a gun-slinging outlaw on horseback immediately pops to my mind. One of them ones all dirty-like, wearing a bandanna along with some other not-at-all-Hollywoody cowboy clothes, being chased by the cavalry and the indians (really white people in seriously bad make up), and with a cowboy-hat squarely planted on some seriously greasy hair.
So, I had imagined this woman facing me in an epic showdown, with the noon sun beating down on us.
Yup. Once she turned up, I couldn't see it either.
Also, she was super sweet (not at all gun-slinging), very clean, and wanted to buy me lunch.
And her adorable son seems to know everything there ever was to know about trains and growing every night, summarily confirming all of the suspicions I have been entertaining between my shrinking pants and the amount of broccoli I consume (It's not the fat, it's the vegetables that make you grow big and strong. I'm already of East-German shot-putter proportions, so what more is there, I wonder? Being lifted out of your bedroom window by the fire department?), and then he half-heartedly validated the Hubby's purchase of the monster vehicle on the coolness-meter, while my mention of owning a Daihatsu was met with an unappreciative stare.
A five-year-old can totally erode your fragile self-esteem with one stare. Especially if he has never heard of a Daihatsu, and pities you for not owning your own train.
Perhaps I can get one from the mall today?
