Terrible Twos

10 11 2009

There’s a toddler in the office today. Not a baby, mind. A baby is a small, bundled, poop-filled thing that is generally harmless, whereas a toddler is slightly larger, far more mobile, and much more able in the ways of deception. She was adorable the first few hours, looking at the hospital’s brochures over and over and babbling numbers to herself like Rain Man, but now she is a hissy fit made flesh, and has been brought over to the elevator hall where buttons may be pressed to appease her roiling spirit.

She hasn’t paid any attention to me at all today, but then again, I haven’t been going out of my way to amuse her either, unlike my officemates who have waved either Hershey’s Miniatures or hundred-peso bills in her face. This dynamic, or lack thereof, reminds me of the one between myself and some of my co-workers. I have no qualms with them, but it’s just that I’m no good at this casual office interaction thing. In fact, I”m no good at interaction, period. I tire of interface far more rapidly than most people, I think, feeling like whole blocks of concrete are setting around my shoulders and ankles whenever I make small-talk, or go through other niceties such as saying hi and goodbye.

This is why I’d make a horrendous mother. I can’t even look at a kid without thinking, “Wow. I am, like, so socially inept.”

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