For some strange reason, on more than one occasion, people have confused me for someone who is mentally challenged. I say this with the utmost respect for those with mental challenges and apologize for any insult they may experience by being unceremoniously lumped in the same category as me.
I like to think it is because I have managed to retain my childlike wonder at the simple things in life that others take for granted.
When I began dating my first husband, Mike lived in a guest house behind a very old house in Hollywood. Beneath his tiny cottage lived a family of baby skunks and their mother.
If you have never seen a baby skunk, you will not understand the overwhelming urge we had to call for them at night so we could take in their unbelievable cuteness.
It is very important to treat a baby skunk with the gentleness one would a kitten, so its mother doesn't come out and spray you. Thus, as softly and endearingly as we could, we would call "Here kitty, kitty, kitty," and more often than not the baby skunks would emerge and visit us.
As time passed we began to say "Here kitty, kitty, kitty," every time we saw a cute animal no matter what its species or age. And it became part of our personal intimate vocabulary.
One morning, Mike and I were having brunch at an upscale café in Santa Monica that we frequently patronized. The food was delicious and it was bright and airy because of the floor to ceiling windows.
As I gazed out the window, I noticed a dog that looked exactly like a baby lamb, tethered to a tree right outside the café. I was filled with delight and elation, causing my voice to become high and unstable.
"Mike, look at that dog out there! It looks like a baby lamb! It's soooo cute!"
I began calling toward the window, "Here kitty, kitty, kitty."
It was then that I noticed the well-dressed, immaculately groomed woman at the table next to ours, watching me with an expression of pity, compassion and eagerness.
"Oh, that's my dog." She spoke slowly and deliberately and I thought perhaps she may have had a recent stroke.
"What kind of dog is it?" My voice was still high and unstable from my near hysteria at seeing the cutest dog ever in the history of the world.
The woman leaned in closer to me and looked at me intently. "It's a Bedlington Terrier," she said even more slowly and deliberately than before, emphasizing each syllable.
I was now starting to grin at her like an idiot because I was confused and a little disoriented by her strange demeanor.
She looked at me even more closely and said, "Bed-ling-ton. I know. That's a hard one."
By this time, Mike had paid the check and we began to leave. As we approached the door, it finally became clear to me what had just transpired.
"Mike! That woman thought I was..."
He replied in a resigned yet sympathetic tone, "I know, Honey. I know."
Photo courtesy of David Owsiany-Boutchie apres championnat 004.JPG Wikimedia
This story first appeared in "The Coffeelicious" on Medium.com