Today at the grocery store the checkout lady asked what nationality Little Lassie’s name is. Its a very common American name, so the woman was basically asking what nationality is the name Jane. I didn’t know how to answer the question, so I sounded like I didn’t know why I named my daughter what I did. (Her name was given to her by her birth mother.)

In the 8.1 seconds it took me to check out, I considered telling the checkout lady that

1. LL was adopted and we didn’t know the origin of her name
2. LL is my nationality (a lie)
3. She is a mix of many nationalities
4. She is the nationality the birth parents told us about (which would be the hardest to believe.)

All this was running through my head as the clerk was scanning my items. I froze. Instead of saying any of the above, I played dumb (which wasn’t a stretch) and kind of whimpered, “nationality? oh, I’m not sure. Good question. Good sale on lettuce today.” The worst part is, the check out lady felt sorry for me. I saw it. Pity. Either for me or my poor daughter who has a brainless mother. Ugh. I must up my game. LL is bright. Soon these little slip-ups will resonate with her. Maybe we’ll eventually be able to laugh it off. Right now, these situations bum me out.