The Socially Awkward Game: Procedure and Scoring

I’ve been known to be a bit socially awkward. Maybe more than a bit...maybe significantly. Certainly some days I’m worse than others. I like to review this game of life at the end of the day. Here are today’s scores:

I started my work in awkwardness first thing this morning at the beach. My kids and I had just walked down the wooden steps onto the shiny sand where there were rivers of stagnant tidal pools. We passed a police officer standing idle there with his K-9 on a leash, sniffing about in a harmless way. My toddler prefers to trot about for a while in the murky foam still lingering in the drying up rivers, so I always stand around a bit waiting on her. My eyes lingered on the dog. He was your traditionally good looking German shepherd, complete with the pointy ears with the hair sticking up on the inside, the long black snout, and the muddled coat a little rough to the touch. I wanted to touch him. The police man looked at me, and being socially awkward, I immediately looked away. I looked back at the dog shortly thereafter though, contemplating the etiquette. Is it considered rude to pet an off-duty police dog, like it is considered rude to pet a service dog? I noticed the cop looking at me again; I looked away. This went on for a few more minutes. Does he know that I am trying to decide on the proper etiquette? Is he reading my mind? Then I started to notice the figure-of-authority-stare-down that he was giving me. I happened to look down at the purse I had hung over my shoulder. I have a tendency to keep whatever arm is next to my purse suspended over top of it, seemingly paralyzed in position in a protective way. This is a cop you are dealing with, woman. He thinks your looks of longing toward his fuzzy friend are looks of anxiety, and your body language suggests you have something to hide in the bag. Then I considered approaching him and saying that I really just wanted to caress his dog, but I talked myself out of it. Walk away, woman. Walk away. So I did, and I took a picture of this crab:

Awards:

1 Point, because being socially awkward without words is not that impressive, but…
5 Bonus Points, because being socially awkward with law enforcement is impressive.

Then we pulled into the grocery store parking lot. I had the door open next to my toddler, who was still strapped into her car seat, while I tinkered with other things. I noticed a man in a pick-up truck, craning his neck out of his window and staring at my toddler. What is wrong with this freak? Who stares at toddlers like that? Where is that K-9 unit when you need it? I gave him a very nasty look, staring him down hard. Then I realized he wasn’t staring at the toddler, he was staring at me. And he started to get that vulgar smirk on this face as he eyed me up and down, about to say something crass as traffic started to flow again.

Mind you, I am a mom—I am exempt from catcalls in all forms. I have been for five years. Further, I had just come from the beach. I had hair reminiscent of seaweed that has been washed up on the beach in a hopeless tangle, and then dried into a state of lifeless straw. There was awkward wet spots on my clothing that an elementary school student would be tormented over. My face had the weird red blotchiness of the beginnings of a sunburn. For an instant I was feeling a little ego boost, until I considered the sort of man that likes to hang out of pick-up truck windows ogling mothers of young children that look something like a beached half-dead mermaid. My ego deflated.

Awards:

1 Point for mistaking a run-of-the-mill doofus for a kidnapper;
1 Bonus Point for continuing to give him the evil eye afterward

Then I went into the store. Acutely aware of my body language since the K-9 incident, I apologized to the clerk behind the bakery counter for having my hand on my hip as I waited for her to arrive. “I’m not about to throw a tantrum, I’m just standing here awkwardly—no rush.” She just stared at me and thought I was a crazy person. I also had a lovely conversation with a cashier, which occurred to me afterward was entirely one-sided.

Awards:

½ Point for my work with the bakery clerk, because I could have made it weirder if I had really gone the extra mile;
½ Point for my interactions with the cashier, because who knows? Maybe he is socially awkward too and was glad for my continual chatter.

The Socially Awkward Tree

And then we came home. Now, one can’t usually boast about awkward behavior within one’s own home (excepting of course during a dinner party—I do great work at such events), but tonight I had a helper. While reading books before bed, a wolf spider about two inches in diameter decided to climb onto my daughter as she was peacefully reading a book in toddler gibberish. The brazen thing climbed right onto her shirt. She burst into hysterics, but stood idle, unable to defend herself. I sprung to action, but was also intimidated by the size of the beast. The most brave and expedient way to remove it would have been to swipe at it with my hand, but I am no knight. I found a book and started to try to knock the thing off, somewhat gingerly. I don’t like hurting things, including things that are terrifying but ultimately harmless. I hated to see the creature curl its legs up into the spider equivalent of rigor mortis.

I had one semi-successful swipe, but the tenacious thing was only flung from the side of my toddler's shirt onto the front of it. After a third swipe I sent the thing flying into the air to a location of uncertainty and joined in on the hysterics. My tot sobbed against me for a moment while I instructed my son, completely calm throughout, to keep his eyes on the monster’s location. I then ran and got my tools for spider relocation from the kitchen: a cup and plate. I successfully trapped the creature after a few more bouts of screaming from it trying to touch me. Then my posse and I went outside to release the thing, and it proved itself to be truly malicious, as immediately after release it charged me. I screamed and ran inside like a child, with the children on my heels.

Awards:

5 Points for only vaguely resembling an adult while presented with an adult job.

Total: 14 Points

Not bad, but I can do better. I will start fresh tomorrow.