Dear Free-Range Kids: I swear, I could just cry at the stranger-danger hysteria these days.
I have the good fortune to be self-employed. As such, I can work whenever and wherever I want, so today I chose to work at the mall. (I know, right?) Did a little shopping, had a little lunch, now I’m ensconced in the bookstore cafe, latte in one hand, mouse in the other, waiting for my husband to get off work so we can go home together.
I am not a conventional looking woman, I guess, which makes me a rather attractive target for curious children. I have long purple hair, wear gothy makeup, and don’t look like your typical mother of teenagers. Add my little cloud of technology – a huge purple laptop with a matching purple mouse and a cell phone with a purple cover serving as my wireless hotspot…well, kids want to come look and ask questions.
Usually, I’m very happy to entertain them. They either want to gawp at my hair (“Does your Mommy let you color it like that?”) or pet my computer or ask me what I went shopping for (there’s a big bag from Torrid at my feet. It’s very pink and very eye-catching.) Today, though, it’s been nerve wracking! The kids come over and start to chatter while their parents are distracted, I invite them to sit and I smile and answer their questions, and then their parents come swooping out of nowhere, gasping and huffing and giving me the stink-eye whilst hustling their progeny off quickly in the opposite direction. One woman even threatened to call Security!
The worst, though, was the gaggle of teenagers. The teenagers weren’t bad. Actually, the teenagers were pretty awesome. There were four of them — three girls and a boy, all looking to be high school students close in age to my own kids. They bounced about and asked me where I bought my hair dye and what kind of makeup I used, and the boy had a million questions about my computer and what I was doing. He was delighted to hear that I work for a large search engine company, and proceeded to tell me all about how he wants to work for my client some day. His sister poked him and told him she had a better chance there than he did, and they good-naturedly argued over who was the bigger nerd. They were perfectly charming and funny and sweet and I was rather enjoying their company, even if they were sort of interrupting my work. They were not the bad part.
The bad part was their Mother. She came into the cafe, found them sitting with me, chatting happily, and FLIPPED OUT. How DARE I speak to her children, what was I doing there? The boy protested. “Mom, we were just asking her about her computer and stuff!” Mom was not satisfied with that and ordered them away. “You just never know what kind of freaks will try to sneak you out some back door!”
Merry Frellin’ Christmas to you, too, lady. Sheesh. — M.