Tonight I went to Starbucks to color (and read, but mostly to color). My mom--excuse me, the Easter Bunny--gave me this awesome coloring book with all the stops (I may not have used that phrase correctly). Perforated pages, a story line involving two kids and a bunny, a fuzzy bunny on the cover, and best of all, brace yourself, each page has a hole at the top so that when the book is closed it has a handle for your carrying convenience. Hol. La. How do ya like me now? So I was chillin' with my Crayolas, shading ever so nicely, and these girls, probably between 9 and 14, were standing at the espresso bar waiting for their drinks, just staring at me. I could hear them talking about me, but I'm not sure what they were saying. All I caught was "she's coloring," so I'm not sure if they meant this as a bad thing or a neutral thing. Bottom line, they were jealous, and inwardly at least, hoping to be as confident as I when they enter their twenties, bolding carrying their coloring book by its handle into Starbucks, where they may or may not encounter others whom they know. What can I say? I color inside the lines, but I live outside of them.
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