Not in Kansas

While watching Baby Q, I had the privilege of working at a conference. So, I packed up the stroller and we headed to our station. Babies are a great draw to your table, especially when you only have pamphlets. People do not go to conferences to get pamphlets. They want free t-shirts, pens, letter openers, note pads, frisbees, tissue boxes, lanyards, candy, karaoke, and, most importantly, to oogle over a baby.

I let Baby Q do her thing (giggle, throw things, scream) and people were eating it up. One gentleman stopped by and began chatting with her, “I have two daughters and they are beautiful just like you.” He was saying this with an accent – a real one, not like my Dick Van Dyke in Mary Poppins accent. “Where are you from?” I asked. “Colombia,” he replied. “Are you fluent in English and Spanish?” “Yes, and French,” he advised me. “Impressive. I’m trying to teach her French,” I told him. “Ah, you speak French,” he said excitedly. “Non (French for ‘no’), I thought we’d learn together,” I replied. He then rattled off the numbers, one through ten, in French and said, “Répète.” I did what I always do when people are doing something I can’t do or don’t understand  (like speaking French, winking or watching football), I smiled, nodded my head and, because I was at a conference, handed him a pamphlet and said, “Merci. Bon voyage.”

All of this language learning and working was exhausting for Baby Q. As she was walking (a practice she is just learning, so it is more like a stagger) around the lobby, she would just give up, flop on the ground, lay on her back, and sigh. Everyone thought this was so cute. I did too, but wondered why it is not perceived as cute when adults do it. I was reminded me of the time that Fru Fru Pants and I were at a conference in Kansas City and, after a few drinks, we did, pretty much, the exact same thing. The only difference being we were just about to get kicked out of a bar. I didn’t realize this was about to happen, but Fru Fru Pants was wise to the ways of the world and, as I was giving one of my best dance floor performances in my free conference tee, she drunk whispered in my ear, “We’re about to get kicked out. Let’s go!” “How do you know?” I asked. “I’ve been in, and kicked out of, more than one bar in my life,” she advised me as we quickly staggered out the door with the bouncer close behind us. We made our way as far away from the entrance as we possibly could – I’m guessing twenty feet – flopped on the grass, laid on our backs, sighed, and then laughed so hard we nearly peed our pants.

I’ve been to several conferences since Kansas and haven’t done that nor have I been kicked out of a bar. “Why not?” one might ask. No real reason other than the simple phrase, made famous by Dorothy, which we had silkscreened on our paid for, not free, custom-made souvenir tee, “We’re not in Kansas anymore.”