You know you’re in trouble when fellow aliens look at you like you’ve grown a seventh arm.
I used to think an alien was an alien was an alien, and some are green or have balding hat-spots or sneakers but we were all aliens at the end of the day and merit being regarded with fellow-alien looks. Apparently I was wrong. There’s an invisible line of Earthling-association in there.
I’m not that great with entirely irrational invisible lines. I have the iresistable urge to toe them.
First I rode the Q train home with a six-foot-three black classmate. Now, me? I look like your typical academic young-married. Short black skirt, black T-shirt, flats and obligatory rag-on-the-head. The black dude next to me? He looked like a typical middle class black dude; jeans, T-shirt, parka, sneakers and a quarter-inch worth of hair on his head. He’s a nice guy. Smart, too (only smart people get into graduate school, folks.)
So there we are, discussing gross anatomy on the train, and the looks I got were absolutely priceless. Mostly horror from females, and one man was obviously debating whether to come rescue me or not.
I couldn’t resist toeing the line again.
Last week I went ice skating with a different classmate. This one frum woman? She was staring so hard as we whizzed by that she turned a 360 and fell over!
Like I said, absolutely priceless. This warrants further experimentation.