Do Hippies Smoke?

This has been a typical week and I find myself praying, Dear God could we just have one normal day? Not Week. Not Month. Day. Even an hour would be nice. An hour of normalcy. Early this morning we drove to the neighboring big city to attend a number of dental and medical appointments for the boy. I was pretty confident my new tires would make it because I've already had one flat this week. I work in the more questionable areas of our fair city so flat tires happen. Frequently. Nails. Screws. Blades. Steel spikes sticking out of the ground in odd places. In one neighborhood recently, everyone came outside to watch the "teacher" get the tire off the steel spike. Even granny toddled out and sat in her rocker fanning herself on the front porch. It almost got as much notice as the time I went into the same neighborhood with my car washed. The entire family and neighborhood were yelling, " teacher washed her car!" But I digress. As I stated earlier, we had multiple appointments in the "big city." The boy tells me he has a big lump in his mouth on the way. Good I say. We are heading to the dentist. How convenient and how long have you had this lump? Oh, he didn't know...a while but he thought it would go away so he didn't tell me. This worked well. Usually he waits until we are done with the dentist and home to tell me he has a big lump in his mouth. The dentist examines the lump, x-rays and feels we need to go back to the orthodontist who is working with this big city dentist as part of a craniofacial team following the boy. Oh goody! I was really hoping for yet ANOTHER appointment. After a cleaning and no cavities (hooray!) we're off to our next appointment but first lunch. Too tired to go in to a restaurant and being in the seedier side of the big city as evidenced by the nude bar with the flying saucer on top of the building which I had to explain over and over...yes, their are aliens in there... naughty, naughty aliens....we stopped at...gag...Sonic. Sonic is not the place for a leaf loving organic person like me but the kids thought it was cool so we sat waiting for our meals on wheels. As we're waiting the boy starts. "I think there is a hippie over there." "There is a hippie over there." "Look at the hippie." It's not a hippie. Hippies were like in the 60's, man. "It is a hippie! Look!" It's not a hippie and anyway how do you know about hippies? "You told me." Dear God! I'm having 60's flashbacks and telling my children about my hippie days and not even remembering I did this? "Do hippies smoke?" "Let's eat outside!" No. I don't want to eat outside. "It's because of the hippie isn't it?" "Are you afraid of the hippie?" Still on the hippie...I put my face in my hands. "Are you laughing or crying?" I'm doing both. A knock on my window startles me. Its the guy in the car next to me. "Mam, do you have a dime?" I'm looking at him. Dime or dime bag? Actually, I have a dime in a zip-lock baggie that I threw in my purse so we would not have to go through the toll booth humiliation of searching frantically for 25 cents worth of pennies under car floor mats like last time. I hand the man a dime. I keep the baggie. "Why did you give that man the dime?" Because he asked for it. I'm thinking he was probably a dime short for an alien lap dance. Just as he leaves our food arrives and a white truck with a screaming woman pulls into dime man's space. Roller boy rolls his eyes at the screaming as he hands me the food. As it turns out she is screaming at the hippie. Here kids, eat your corn dog and watch the hippies fight. As we're eating with the windows rolled up an employee walks in front of our row of cars swinging a bag of fluid that well...to me...a nurse...it looks like a catheter and a leg bag. "WHAT WAS THAT?" Maybe it was a soda refill I reply with fake cheeriness. "It looked like pee to me." "Was it pee?" We head off to the behavior specialist who makes the mistake of asking how it was going. Well...I was thinking as we were driving here of placing a little name tag that read, "Hi! My name is "the boy"" on the boy and buying him a one way air plane ticket to Moscow. He stares at me over his glasses. I realize this would not be an answer. Why is that he asks? He's not Russian. We made a follow-up appointment for one month. Oh good. Something to look forward to. Maybe we can stop at Sonic again for some corn dogs and urine.