On Sunday, I went to the grocery store. It was a bit cool outside, so I was wearing my usual winter attire. As I was pushing my cart through the store, a young woman walked up to me, grabbed a handful of my outerwear, and exclaimed, "Where did you get this?"
I blinked a few times. Oh, yes, I'm wearing my cloak. I guess that is an odd thing to wear shopping. For most people, anyway. "I made it," I explained to her.
She looked crestfallen. "I should have known," she said, releasing the wool and petting it. Then she perked. "You don't sew for other people, do you?" she asked hopefully.
I laughed and shook my head. "I'm afraid not."
She sighed. "Figures. It's very cool!" she told me. "I'll get out of your way now."
If I'd had a business card for verminius_rex I'd've given her that, poor girl. Though cloaks are expensive in terms of sheer fabric; the wool for mine had been $50 or so when I got it ten years ago, and I'd purchase it at a 60% off sale.
One of the people I gave cookies to over Christmas, Seraph, called me yesterday. "I was so excited when I got your cookies," she said, "and since you had so thoughtfully wrapped them into little packages of two, I thought 'I'll keep these in the freezer! Then I can take them out and bring them with my lunch throughout the year.'"
It had never occurred to me to freeze cookies before, so I was afraid she was going to follow up with 'but they didn't freeze well'. Not quite ....
"My husband and I came back from vacation in Florida last week. And do you know what? My son had eaten all of them except for one little package of snickerdoodles and one little thing of iced cookies. I was so mad! 'How could you? Those were my cookies!'"
"He said, 'You didn't mark them with anything ...'
"'But those were mine! We had all these other goodies and cookies in the house! Why couldn't you have eaten those?'
"'Well, the cookies in the freezer were so much better. They were so good, Mom!'
"'I know! That's why I was saving them for me!'"
So now I have to make more cookies for Seraph (she's local, so it's easy to get them to her.) But I feel rather warm and fuzzy about the implied compliment of my cookies being good enough to fight over, even if I'd rather not start a family feud. Maybe I should make a batch for her son, too.
I was talking to Beth, who works for the vendor of Toddler Bank's banking software, and provides most of the technical support for the loan department. She'd wanted me to add a file to their trouble-shooting website, and I wound up faxing it to her because it wouldn't upload.
"We've been having trouble with our server today, that's why it wouldn't upload," she explained to me.
I laughed. "Nine times out of ten I can't get that system to accept my files."
"Really? It must not like you."
"Well, the feeling's mutual. I hate using it."
"But you're so good at it!" she exclaimed.
I blinked. "I am?"
"You are! I never have any trouble understanding your messages or what the trouble is."
"I gather this isn't the case with everyone?"
Now it was her turn to laugh. "Some people ... aren't very good at explaining their problem," she said, diplomatically. "But it's always easy working with you."