talk to strangers

One of the great gifts of my life has been the fact that strangers walk up to me and strike up a conversation. I never have thought much about it, and I never even thought it was odd, until someone at work pointed it out to me after I told them about a weirdo I encountered in a gas station. They recounted a half a dozen conversations with different strangers I had told them about and pointed out that whenever someone asked our group for directions, they always addressed me. My co-worker theorized it was because my hair was wavy and it made me look approachable, this was her theory because we noticed a precipitous drop in "stranger-danger" as it came to be called, when I went through my chi phase.

My sister has another theory, and it goes something like this: "it's because you stare people down. Like when we drive on the freeway, you look at people in the next car and they look back. you stare them down in their eyes. quit doing that, it's why I hate driving with you"

Truth be told, except for one really rude homeless guy at the diamond shamrock on north shepherd, I don't mind it at all. And more truth, I occasionally initiate some of these conversations, like today...


After a week and a half of no mother's day out, last minute shopping, Santa Picture in the Galleria on December 23rd, Christmas, New Year, and a colicky baby, I decided to celebrate the return of Mother's Day out with a trip to Nordstrom. I was on the third floor, heading to the ladies room where there is a separate area set aside solely for nursing mothers, (another reason why even though I shouldn't, I shop there, or at least make a pit stop there on the way to the baby Gap) when I saw something you just don't see every day. A set of black, elderly ladies who looked exactly alike and were dressed exactly alike. Since I've become the Aunt of twins, I've taken a special interest in them, and it is really rare when you see older twins, like anyone over the age of 10, dressed alike. But there they were, in their matching coifs, track suits and Louis Vitton purses. Manna from heaven for an eye-starer-downer like myself.

Me: ladies, I just have to ask, are you twins?

ML: yes ma'am, and we are the real deal too, No pills, no hormones. We are the real deal. Our great grandmother had three sets of twins and then our grandmother didn't have any, and then our mom had us and her first cousin had twins too. We are the real deal.

Me: really! Oh my goodness, your poor great gradmother!

ML: She didn't have any hormones either. they were the real deal too! we live together too.

Me: oh how fun!.. And you still dress alike?

VD (the quiet one, there is always a quiet twin): well, that was our father.

ML: he wanted us to dress alike, and it got so that we just had the same taste in things and now we like to do it.

VD: but we don't have the same names.

ML: no, I am Mary Louise, after our two grandmothers and she is Velma Dunn after the obstetrician who delivered us.

Me: Mary Louise and Velma Dunn

ML: Velma Dunn, she was the first black obstetrician in Houston. Not only are we the real deal, we are native Houstonians too!

Me: oh, there aren't very many of those around any more, you ladies really are the real deal. I am so glad I met you. I hope you have a wonderful day.

ML: you too, oh, you got a little one there!

Me: yes ma'am, she is getting hungry too, Bye!

And they walked off, presumably to buy another matching outfit.

Another successful stranger-danger. I think God has sent me every single one, even the rude homeless guy at the Diamond Shamrock.