more fun with "what do you do for fun?"

The trend has not stopped. Every interviwer to date has asked me this question. Some humorous snippets:

1) An affable yet absent-minded physician who reminded exactly of Dr. Hibbert from the Simpsons. My answer du jour was "I go dancing." He asked what type of dancing. I mentioned Indian, since cultural references are vague enough that they are usually left as-is. I then said, "And I often go out dancing with my friends."

To which he responded, completely seriously, "Ah, so you like to go boogie-dancing."

What's a girl to do? I said, "Yes, yes I do."



2) I walked into an interview at another school. The interviewer was an awkward, middle-aged gentleman complete with bowtie and stilted conversation style. His conversation starter was the million dollar question. Once again, I answered "I go dancing." And then ....

Silence. For a good ten seconds. I shifted in my seat and tried to look at ease. He literally had nothing to say in response. In retrospect, I suppose it was quite funny. Not so much at the time.

3) My most recent interviewer was a lovely African-American woman. She also asked the fun question, and I once again said that I like to dance. She asked what type of dancing and I said "Indian", assuming, as in Case #1, that it would be left at that.

Ooops. This woman had taken Classical Indian dancing lessons at some point in her life and was set on discussing the intricacies of the eye movements in certain forms. I must say I did a pretty good job of BSing, but still. It was close.

*~*~

My parents are CRAZY. LOCO. NUTSO. What have you.

I am at home. A few minutes ago I heard some serious racket downstairs. My parents were chasing each other around the house like 5 year olds. I mean like full on running through the house. He was trying to tickle her and she was trying to hit him, and it evolved into a high-stakes game of tag. Along with shouting and laughing. Highly unnatural for my nearly sexagenarian parents. One of whom has had knee surgery.

Suddenly I hear a huge thud and a high pitched shriek "Oh NO! Oh NO!!" I ran downstairs and saw my dad sprawled out on the hardwood living room floor. In his button down and sweater vest and trouser socks. My mom is huddled in the corner crying, realizing that she has been an integral part of this disaster. I kneel down and ask my dad if he's OK. He can't stop laughing. He's fine, but bruised his knees.

I felt like scolding them both and giving them a time out.