Tonight was ‘”Registration Night’ for my daughters pre-school. I missed it last year, which, I have been reminded about frequently since last- year. Of course I arrived fashionably late. (Thirty-nine minutes is fashionable, right?)
Walking into a room full of tiny tables and chairs is odd enough. A room full of grown people sitting in the tiny chairs at the tiny tables is just freakish. I quietly made my way over to my wife, seated in her tiny chair, and reached for a tiny wooden chair that was next to her. At this point, I was under the assumption I would be able to blend in without any fanfare or undue attention as the teacher was going over the school handbook. Reaching for the tiny wooden chair put a quick end to that illusion as my wife and the teacher both spoke up “Not that one.”
Walking into a room full of tiny tables and chairs is odd enough. A room full of grown people sitting in the tiny chairs at the tiny tables is just freakish. I quietly made my way over to my wife, seated in her tiny chair, and reached for a tiny wooden chair that was next to her. At this point, I was under the assumption I would be able to blend in without any fanfare or undue attention as the teacher was going over the school handbook. Reaching for the tiny wooden chair put a quick end to that illusion as my wife and the teacher both spoke up “Not that one.”