On Sunday, I was able to check out the local School of Massage Therapy. I had procured the babysitter for 2pm, but I wanted to call them in the morning to see how all of this works. Their coupon says ‘no appointments necessary,’ but does that mean there is a huge line? What is the wait? How do I do this? Can I make an appointment if I want to?
So, I called.
A really nice woman answers all of my questions and tells me that they don’t take appointments, but they do start a waiting list. I can come down now and pay for my massage, be put on the waiting list and then tell them when I’ll be back. Um, isn’t that an appointment? No, not technically. Technically, it’s not an appointment; you’re just waiting in line…somewhere else.
So, Claire and I went down there at 10am, and sure enough, the wait at that point was over an hour and a half. It didn’t matter to me, because I paid and my name was put on the list. I didn’t have to be there exactly at 2pm. If 2pm came and went, they’d get to me when I walked in. It was, in fact, better than having an appointment.
As I’m standing there getting my non-appointment set up, Claire is insisting on being picked up. Sometimes this is annoying to me, but on the other hand, if I’m holding her, I know she’s not running around the waiting room.
The nice woman we’d talked to on the phone says, to me, “What’s your name?”
Claire, thinking that the woman is asking her, answers, “My name is Claire!”
The women in line behind us chuckle.
The nice woman’s face lights up, and says, “That’s a pretty name!”
I quickly say my name and spell it.
“Last name?”
Sure enough, Claire belts out our last name.
The women in line behind us chuckle a little harder this time.
I say, “Did you get that?” and I repeat it, and then spell it, too.
“Address?”
I turn to Claire. “Claire…what is our address?”
And she proudly says it, and I add the zip code.
The woman behind the counter is amazed and I hear gasps from the women behind us. Then, there are hushed whispers from them:
“How old is she?”
“I don’t know. Three?”
“Four. She’s got to be four.”
“She’s two…” I said.
“What?? No way.”
“…and a half.” I added.
“Still! I’ve seen Kindergarteners that don’t know their address!” one of the women exclaimed.
The woman behind the counter then says, “Phone number?”
…to which Claire replies, “NINE ONE ONE!!”
I think they were all still laughing as we walked out to the car. 
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