At McDonald's, a high school aged cashier eyed me and once Rose was out of ear shot asked, "Is she your daughter?"
"Yep!" I said, proudly.
He looked a little baffled but didn't press it. I always wonder if the confusion is because the three of us don't look genetically related. Or if because to some I look a shade too young to have a 10-year-old. Or because while they can grasp me having Rose, Mike doesn't make sense, or vise versa.
Interestingly I, more so than Mike, get this question from people. Lately the questions and confused looks have become a joke between Rose and I.
As we ate our dinner, I told Rose, "we fooled another one" and then told her the story. She high fived me, and we laughed as if we're fooling the world. Sometimes, when people ask who Rose belongs to in front of her, Rose will proudly tell people how old I was when she was born as she winks at me in an obvious way.
In the end, people's rudeness is actually helping us bond as a family, so it really doesn't bother me too much. Pry away, folks, pry away.
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