02:47 am
So I'm at dinner tonight with my parents, at the local T.J. O'Pootertoot's, when I notice that the young couple (specifically the female side of it) seated behind us is being just a touch louder than was called for for the restaurant. Not drunk-loud, just didn't-really-know-better-loud. Mentally, I brushed it off. A few minutes later, a woman from another table stops by to talk to them, friendly stuff, are you having fun, that sort of thing. A bit odd, perhaps, but ultimately, nothing remarkable. Then the female half of the couple gets up and asks a passing waiter for directions to the bathroom, and it clicks. She (and, as I found out later, her companion), are...what's the term these days?..."mentally challenged". Now, good for them being out like this, having fun together, even if they needed a little chaperone help (the "woman from another table" was one-her dining companion was the other, and the were seated so that they could watch the goings-on without eavesdropping). That's not the thought that stuck with me, though. The thought that stuck with me went something along the lines of "How come THEY can connect like that and I couldn't possibly consider it? I'm socially challenged! They are at least receiving assistance and traingin in such things-why are the rest of us left to fend for ourselves?" I'm not angry at the kids, of course, or their chaperones, or anyone other than-you guessed it, what's our running theme?-myself. Shouldn't I be able to go through the same experiences? What the hell's wrong with me?
Then I think about it.
And I crawl back into my hole where I belong.
P.S. If you think I'm posting that at almost 3AM on a Saturday night/Sunday morning so that I can have it out there but still not have it be seen by anyone, you're right.
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