I got Pigeonholed.

My husband laughed as he told me one of the neighbors, a single dad, asked if I would have any interest in babysitting his two young girls.The only time the man sees me is in our building parking lot.

Do I look like a babysitter? Is it the massive flash of silver that sits atop my cranium?  I’ve escaped resembling a Shar Pei so it’s gotta be the hair.

He assumed I’d be a potential candidate for childcare based on my hair color.

I’ve been a granny for many years. I tell my age when asked; it’s a big number, but no big deal.

What is a big deal is when other people make assumptions based on their perception of an older woman.

I quit my last volunteer job when they assigned me to geezer friendly chores. I sucked it up while the coordinator demonstrated how to use a computer mouse.

She gave advanced instructions on using the manual paper cutter, then asked, “Think you’ve got it?” I bit my tongue instead of informing her it wasn’t quantum math, and left.

Our house hasn’t been kid friendly for twenty years.

• Judging from the parochial school sticker on the man’s car, I have a hunch that he’d find my reading selection unacceptable. The only Mother Goose in my house is me.
• Sybil, the cat, tolerates me and hisses at children.
• I don’t bake cookies. That’s why God invented Central Market.
• No way am I going to play endless rounds of Go Fish and Cards Against Humanity isn’t kid friendly.
• Vodka:30  is a daily event, no exceptions except sometimes it’s Tequila:30.

Why didn’t he ask the hot chick that lives next door to him? For all he knows, she may be desperate for extra income.

I wish him luck in finding a sitter, but he might consider trimming his  beard.

You never know how people perceive men with unkempt beards.