Why Don'T You Come Home With Me

"What is wrong?" my friends ask, in a good way. Not in a mean way or anything. How much do I share? How much do I dare? Have you met me? Do you know me at all? Have I not proven I'm the transparent 9 year-old-boy, lying angrily inside an old woman of complete niceness's body? If you don't know that, then you don't know me. So "How do you do?" I am Caren. I am only a mystery to those who have not returned my first "Hi." My mother reported that the mailman had to bring us (Us being my twin and I) to the house, and she had to hold onto us until he had gotten out of sight because he had made the faux paus of telling us how cute we were when we were 4, and full of our cute darling twin selves. He made his little error when he got carried away and added, "I wish I could take you two dolls home with me." Meeting his wife years later, when she refused to give another lady the chair her purse was seitting on, I am SO glad he did what his brain told him was the thing to do instead of his heart that loved us. I'm pretty sure he had a hard life with You-Cannot-Have- My-Purse's-Chair-Woman. Whereas he was always cheerful, upbeat and charming, she was a dour woman with a mean down lip.