Well, Steve beat me to the punch with his reference to my smallness sinking to a brand new, um, well, low. So I figured I should tell the story. It’s short, har har, aren’t I full of endless puns. But here it is.
While we were in Ottawa, we decided to take a cab to a pub to meet the guy who got married this weekend and his wife. The cab pulled up, and in a completely serious voice, the cabby said, “You two get in, I’ll take the baby.” as he reached for my hand the way some people do. The way you lead your little daycare kid through a crowded area so they don’t run out into the streety weety in front of the trucky wuckies. Yes, this man thought I was a baby. And his English was good! So I can’t even think that maybe he got a couple words mixed up, and in a bizarre coincidence, pinned the wrong one on me. I know his English was good because as soon as I started convulsing with laughter, he said, “Oh! Lady! Lady! … You’re not angry that I called you baby?” He was really shocked when a. it was pointed out that I was the oldest one there, and b. I paid the fare. Then he said, “Oh, you are being mature now! … but you really look like a baby. You have a baby face.” He wanted to keep explaining how he made that mistake. God it was funny. So I am officially the baby now. If I’m not careful, at the rate I’m going, I’ll be the fetus soon.