Grocery shopping. I'm in the aisle that sells baby supplies then slowly works its way towards popcorn, nuts and candy. As I pass rows of formula, lotion and diapers, I see a girl whose face plucks a chord of familiarity. Ah yes, 8th grade social studies with Mrs. Isom. One of my least favorite classes ever. Now standing by her husband and clutching a baby. Here we are, the same age and she's started a family and I'm cavorting through the aisles with glitter smeared around my eyes and blue streaks in my hair, thinking about when I should sleep. I don't think either one of us is better... it's just weird to see somebody I once sort of knew and see how our paths have diverged, yet converged again in that aisle of the grocery store. (I seriously doubt she recognized me... I look a lot different than I did in 8th grade). While I was there, a young girl gave me what can best be described as the evil eye. Something about the way I look made her furious! And she looked like she was at the most eight years old. I have no idea what her problem was, other than that she's not used to seeing people who resemble characters from Jem in the grocery store.

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