Imagine me as a caveman. I know you’ve likely never seen my face, but imagine it anyway, in caveman form. Now, imagine me meeting Abraham Lincoln who, I imagine, would say: “Four score and seventy million years ago (I don’t believe in evolution and am not ashamed to express this due to certain freedoms laid down, in Lincoln’s time, four score and seven years ago. I’m not sure Lincoln believed in it either, but who am I to speak for him? If you hold a different opinion, I offer no judgment. I simply ask the same in return.) our forefishes committed certain acts that ended in the two of us now meeting! I find this occasion pleasant and am pleased to make your gentlemanly acquaintance.” To which I, in caveman form or not, would likely respond in a series of guttural grunts and snuffles. I would wish to say: “Well met, good sir! Thou art a kind and noble soul, freeing those who suffer the utmost oppression and worrying thyself sick at the mortal cost of such actions. Would that a long and prosperous life were to avail itself to thee, thou man amongst men.”
…I am socially awkward. So such an auspicious occasion as the one previously described would likely result in just the grunts.
I bring this up because today I watched a young girl for a friend of my ex’s. She is about the same age as my oldest daughter, so keeping her entertained was not an obstacle, but I worried myself sick about the silliest of things.
What if this girl is simply a spy sent to report upon the conditions of my household? I have nothing to hide, but exes have a way of making ammunition out of thin air.
What if her parents are angry that I let them play outside most of the day? I supervised them and utilized sunscreen, her parents sent a bathing suit with her, yet, what if she is an indoor child?
What if she has a mosquito bite?
What if the lunch I prepared was not considered nutritious enough?
And on and on my mind raced as I attempted to drown these thoughts in a book about Lincoln’s assassination while I sat in a rocking chair in the shade under the eaves of my house as the children played.
All this worry to no avail. Her father arrived, picked her up; it is now about six hours later and no ill report has reached my ears. All must have went well.
…Her mother texted me shortly after she left and expressed her intention to have a pizza delivered to my family as a means of thanks. I expressed that no thanks were necessary. I understand the struggles of working and raising children. I am only too happy to help. However, I know how I would feel if I allowed someone to aid me without compensation, so I said that pepperoni is fine. Only if they felt it necessary, though, should a delivery man darken my door bearing cheesy, saucy, crusty, meaty goodness.
They felt it necessary, and the reward was much enjoyed!
…The delivery man was the girl’s father. He works at a pizza place right down the street from us and he brought us two boxes filled with fresh, medium sized goodness and again expressed thanks on behalf of himself and his wife. I reiterated that it was not necessary but much appreciated.
As he left, I nearly vomited with worry. Another awkward social situation I’ve never dealt with before had arisen. Are you supposed to tip the thank-you-pizza delivery driver when the thank-you-pizza delivery driver is also he who wishes to thank you?
…I’m worried that I either should or shouldn’t have.
Sometimes I dislike my brain.
I bid you adieu…and a don’t.
Adieu…study the social sciences so that you know how to respond in situations like the one I’ve just described.
A don’t…worry yourself sick over it like I do. Pizza is great and should be lost to the toilet through the southern, rather than the northern, orifice.