This page is a permanent link to the reply below and its nested replies. See all post replies »
Mamapolo2016 · F
They do. I don’t ask them, “Why me?” but I think I get it.
Optimally, we don’t sniff butts, but there IS body language going on. Now and again my daughter conducts “no eye contact!” seminars, but I flunk.
I grew up in a rural location and have lived “in the country” for a large part of my life. Strangers were rare. Strangers don’t scare me although maybe they should.
I think it’s as simple as appearing approachable.
Optimally, we don’t sniff butts, but there IS body language going on. Now and again my daughter conducts “no eye contact!” seminars, but I flunk.
I grew up in a rural location and have lived “in the country” for a large part of my life. Strangers were rare. Strangers don’t scare me although maybe they should.
I think it’s as simple as appearing approachable.
bijouxbroussard · F
@Mamapolo2016 I’ve been told I look "stern" when I’m not smiling, but somehow children have never been put off by it, and a few times have come up to me and asked for help, like if they were lost.
Mamapolo2016 · F
@bijouxbroussard It may be in part WHO approaches you, and they may be looking for different things.
My attitude when out and about is basically, “Come one, come all,” because I’m almost criminally curious. Maybe THIS guy knows the answers. Or maybe there’s an interesting story here.
Once I was on the Roadrunner train on my way home, and the only other passenger in my car was probably in a disturbed psychotic state. All by himself. I don’t think he ever knew I was there. But along the way, the mildly alarming vocal violence morphed into singing hymns.
I sang harmony. Later when I told that story, people were aghast. “You’re going to get yourself killed.”
Well, not that time. When I got off the train, he was launching into “Some Glad Morning.”
My attitude when out and about is basically, “Come one, come all,” because I’m almost criminally curious. Maybe THIS guy knows the answers. Or maybe there’s an interesting story here.
Once I was on the Roadrunner train on my way home, and the only other passenger in my car was probably in a disturbed psychotic state. All by himself. I don’t think he ever knew I was there. But along the way, the mildly alarming vocal violence morphed into singing hymns.
I sang harmony. Later when I told that story, people were aghast. “You’re going to get yourself killed.”
Well, not that time. When I got off the train, he was launching into “Some Glad Morning.”
