It is one thing to be mistaken for an older, able to drive, high school aged teenager. But to be mistaken for an awkward, gangly, confused newly minted teenager of junior high age? That is something different altogether. It’s sort of insulting, while still being somewhat flattering. I am, after all, turning 37 in two weeks, so if someone wants to think I am 13, I guess I’ll take it.
This morning we had to take our motorhome of break down fame in to be inspected. My hubby likes someone to stand on the curb while he is backing out so that he has a visual for where the driveway ends and the drop-off begins.
I got to be the human sign post this time. I was standing on the curb, waiting for my hubby to back out just as the junior high school bus pulled out half-way down the block, all the students loaded on.
Please note that I was in a coat, with my purse on my shoulder, no make-up on my face, yoga pants peeking out from underneath the coat. I’m not sure if my appearance made what happened next more or less confusing.
My husband hadn’t yet started to back out, but the bus driver saw me standing on the curb. He slowed down, and before I had a chance to register what was happening, pulled over to let me on the bus so I could go merrily on my way to school. Only, I am not a junior high student. I just went and renewed my driver’s license today in fact. The one I’ve had for twenty years.
I should have gotten on the bus. Then I could have ridden to school on the same seat as my twelve-year-old son.
Yes, my son had just stepped onto that bus.
So thank you, bus driver, for thinking I should have been going to junior high with my “peers”. Or curse you. I’m not really sure which.