Earlier today, with my back toward the window at church, I was mistaken for Mona. Twice. The first time, Zman's little brother Felix rushed in, shouted, "What Are You Doing In Here!?" Then sobered when he realized it was me, and asked again, much more softly, "what are you doing in here?" He rushed out when I told him the not very interesting answer of "listening to This American Life."
Jeannie's dad didn't bother with pretensions. He repeated banged on the window I was leaning against, then the door to the room I was in, then finally opened the door to apologize. "I'm sorry, I thought you were Mona. You looked just like her from the back."
And it all could have been fine. I really didn't mind being mistaken for someone from behind. Except that Mona is only 11 years old.
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