Random conversations at bus stops with curious strangers.
I push the girls up the hill to the Target and from above, the girls look like little vampire slayers. Their hair is the exact dirty blond of Buffy's in that final season. And it is haphazardly placed in big messy pony tails just like hers were. As if they have spent the morning readying themselves for a great battle in their black Hello Kitty hoodies.
I laugh as I envision tiny stakes hidden in their jackets.
After the nearly mile walk, the Target is decorated with Domo Kun for Halloween. He is their official Halloween spokesperson this year and it is damn cute to see him dressed up as a witch and a vampire on the gigantic posters that hang from the ceiling. The girls are afraid of him and ask why he is yelling. I tell them that he is from Japan and is happy. Rachel keeps asking "why is he here from Chinese." and I keep saying, "No. Japan!" I am sure it will take a few more visits to Domo Kun land to not be afraid of him.
On the way home, we stop to talk to an African nun at the bus stop. She is beautiful and other-worldly in her lavender sweater and purple dress and big silver cross. I feel like I might be in an episode of Lost, she is so out of place. Put here by the island just for me, to teach me something. We talk for a long time. Her accent is so perfectly not of here. She tells the girls she is jealous of them, they are so beautiful. But she is looking at me as she tells us she is jealous of us. I feel for her. I don't know, she could have children, I don't know how long she has been a nun. But I think her honesty is lovely and want to hug her, but I don't because I don't know anything about nuns. At the end of the conversation, I tell the girls, "Say 'thank you for talking to us today.'" And they do. The little vampire slayers thank the nun and on we go.
Another bus stop has an old lady waiting for us. "Twins?!" She hails us over. We are a traveling curiosity. "Who's the boss?" She asks me, pointing to the girls. "Who is the boss?" I ask them. "Mama is the boss," Anya says, smiling. She knows it is a good joke. But the woman isn't in on the joke. Anya looks up at me with the eyes of a 15 year old and I smile back.
These are my days. Random conversations at bus stops with curious strangers. I couldn't imagine anything better.