Knowledge is power...but only if the other guy realizes you're knowledgeable

I'm pretty sure I made some sort of half-hearted promise earlier in the week about an uplifting post coming. It will just have to wait until Bee returns to blogging after spending some quality time in a romantic locale (which may or may not be your friendly neighborhood Air Force base) with Señor Marine. Because I'm fairly certain she's not wasting one second of together time in front of the computer.

Today I had the pleasure of meeting a woman who firmly disproves any of Darwin's theories about evolution or survival of the fittest. Seriously, people, a person this dense should have theoretically been weeded out centuries ago. And yet she's here, she's nearing retirement age, and I can only assume has procreated. So explain that to me, Charles Darwin.

Our conversation started when I told her I had two sets of twins. And she was justifiably impressed with me. Then it came up that they were adopted. To which she replied, "So do you have any of your own?"

Let me interject here... I can guarantee any of my many adoptive mom friends (3 or 4 of whom read this blog) have had to answer this question. And, like me, have felt obligated to answer using the correct terminology. I've never been angry about someone asking this question, just glad to have the chance to educate Joe Public about adoption.

So, I answered with a smile, "Well, they're all our own. But, yes, all five of our kids are adopted."

Usually this is where the lightbulb goes on, the other party understands and the conversation moves on.

She nodded seriously. "So do you have any real kids?"

At this point, I'm pretty sure I just looked bewildered and she looked like the one who knew what was going on. (Can I point out that Aquaman was listening to all this right next to me and never once looked up from his magazine? Thanks for the help, hon.)

Kind of baffled, I kept smiling and said, "Our kids are all real. Their tantrums are very, very real."

And thus ended our session of Politically Correct Adoption Speak 101. I think we all got failing grades.

--Kae--

Foot-poppin' fun

So I bought some blue knee high boots. Blue knee high boots with ruffles. This was on a whim, as I ended up at an outlet mall and they were the last pair at Charlotte Russe and therefore ten dollars. Before I go further, you all need a visual.

So initially I wanted to wear these boots on Monday. That didn't pan out. So I had to wait all the way until Thursday (THURSDAY) to wear my blue boots. I came home fresh and sparkly from work with somewhere to go (trivia night with some of Señor Marine's friends) and got dressed. Imagine, if you will, these boots with leggings, a white skirt and a gray lacy shirt. Cute, right? I walked out of the bedroom and Señor Marine's reaction was, "Well, that's hippie of you." (Yes, I realize this sounds mean when it's written and not him saying it, but he didn't mean it that way.) Probably right with a flowy skirt and ruffly boots and whatever. Take two was just skinny jeans, boots, shirt.

So we headed out, and once we got to trivia, I did everything in my power to have someone comment on my boots without flat out saying, "Hey! Boots! Look!" I tried crossing my legs so my foot stuck pretty much straight out in everyone's line of sight. I tried casually standing up with my foot popped as I talked to someone. I imagine it looked something like this:

You know, cute and casual.

So after an entire night and not a single comment, I looked around and realized: we were with a group of entirely male friends. And not a single one of them was going to say something about my shoes. I had struck utter failure.

I'll wear them again and damn it, someone is going to comment on my blue boots without me forcing them. If that doesn't work, I'll jam that cute little stiletto heel into their foot until they do.