Local

I love the idea of being a local. I like knowing the best little place to get breakfast. I like supporting local business. I like knowing the proprietors. I like that the local hardware store's theme this week is Peanut Days, and I can walk around eating peanuts and throwing the shells on the floor. I like knowing interesting factoids about the area and its history.

Unfortunately, I can no longer explore my surroundings with any sort of anonymity. I hadn't thought about it before today, but being part of a Parade every where I go means that people recognize us.

I've been to the market here countless times without the girls and just been a face in the crowd. In the past week, I've been to the market twice with the girls and now everyone "knows" me. The produce guy told me where he'd put the organic bananas without me asking. The bulk foods guy told me that the organic mango slices would be in on Thursday and, no, they don't have sulfites. Several people smiled and looked at me as though to say: Hi! We've seen each other before.

On the one hand, I'm thinking... This is awesome! I'm really a local! And, I have lots of people "looking out" for me.

On the other hand, I'm fretting... I can never go out looking like a hot mess again. Or leave a bad tip. Or forget a poop-sack when I take Lucy for a walk. Or be rude in any way. Or wear the same shirt two, or three, days in a row. Or slip into a church pew. (But, I'm mostly concerned about having to do my hair.)

So, along with the Mothering Twin Manual that has yet to be issued to me, I am waiting on my personal stylist / chef / trainer / assistant. (Mostly, I'd just like to have someone do my hair for me everyday.)