The key to getting away with it

I needed a measurement. To be precise, I needed to know how big my sister's head is all around (57 cm, by the way) to knit up the leftover yarn into a hat to give with her gift for her birthday. I don't think anyone routinely has a list of head circumferences on hand.

Hmmm. Problem.

I heard a question from her room. Did I have any fun books to read? I glanced at my rather meagre Discworld collection. Why yes, yes I did. I grabbed one Discworld and Sex and the Single Vampire (which she refuses to read for reasons beyond my understanding) and the tapemeasure, skedaddled of to sister dearest and gave her the books, or book because she refused to as much as touch Sex and the Single Vampire. While she looked the book over, I took out my tapemeasure and struck.

Now it either says something about my sister or how she thinks of me because she sat perfectly still. Still as in 'Oh god if I don't move maybe the grizzlybear on the other side of the tree won't see me' still.

"Heh," I said, "your head is 57 centimeters around."

"Why did you need to know that?" she asked.

I rolled up my tapemeasure, gave her one grave look and answered, "You don't want to know."

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how I got away with measuring my sister's head without betraying my intent.



Another story all together:

I walked back from the bus stop to my home. It was still light out. Some children were playing on the street and among them this little three year old. He turned around and looked straight at me. The street behind me was empty. The boy opened his mouth, pointed at me and, guess what he squealed? "Mommy!"

It didn't help that the boy's father burst out laughing while I stood there, gaping like the proverbial fish on dry land. A mother, I am most definitely not.