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So the story goes something like this: Back when I am about five years old (this is my default age of when I am too young to remember my actual age), my parents take me to the mall. As a five year old, I have little interest in shopping unless it involves toys with flashing lights and battery-operated moving parts. I certainly have no interest in clothes shopping, much less others' clothes shopping, e.g., my mom's. 
Anywho, my mom is wrapping up purchasing her 500th pair of high heels at what is most likely a J.C. Penny. I wander around idly, too bored and unrestrained to wait patiently like any other five year old child. Amidst the walkway I come across... I don't know what... I'm not too sure... Fake or real? 
It isn't moving at all. I don't know the word "mannequin" as a five year old, but I certainly know what those fake people showing off clothes for purchase are. What I can't distinguish is whether this thing I'm looking at is one of those fake people or an actual person standing very still. My curiosity gets the best of me. This thing has to be one of those fake people; a real person can't be standing that still. After two seconds of deep contemplation and self-reflection, weighing out the pros and cons of my conflicting decision, I resolve to clarify the matter by reaching out and touching this thing's arm... 
I quickly walk away, not out of embarrassment but more out of frustration and annoyance. This woman will never understand what kind of critical thinking just took place in my brilliant, young mind and she will forever shrug it off dismissively as some little boy just doing typical weird things in public. |