supermarket prophecy
"Ah! A beautiful baby!"
The old woman's voice was pleasant, lilting, its syllables tripping up and down in a way no American voice could mimic. Her dark eyes were locked on my baby's blue ones, and Evie smiled back at her from her seat in the shopping cart.
"Is this your little brother?" the woman asked, bending down to speak to Beth, the oldest of the two girls flanking my shopping cart.
"No, she is our sister," Beth said.
"Ah, three girls! And beautiful ones, beautiful. Such a lovely family you are." The little old lady's hair was short and white and neat, her long dark coat buttoned all the way up to her chin, and her shoes were dark and sensible. "And do you love your little sister? Of course you love her! Such a beautiful baby!"
It was standard supermarket small talk, but something about this lady--was it the accent? The smile? The earnestness as she addressed my children?--seemed different. She beamed upon my children and I with the benevolence of a fairy godmother, and all four of us smiled back at her, stopped in our tracks in the cereal aisle, utterly charmed.
After asking each of their names and crowing over how beautiful each name was, the woman turned her sharp gaze upon me.
"But you are having a boy," she said.
I opened my mouth to inform her that I was not, to the best of my knowledge, having a baby of any gender any time soon, but she continued before I could say a word.
"If you have another one, it will be a boy," she said with a firm nod.
"I guess I'll have to tell my husband that and see what he thinks," I said.
"Yes. You tell him." Another nod. "You tell him Iraqi lady told you so. I am Iraqi, from Baghdad. You should have another baby, and it will be a boy."
And then, before I could ask her name, or how she got from Baghdad to the Shop 'N' Kart in Albany, Oregon, or how she was so gosh-darn sure I am fated to be the mother of a son, she gave another beatific nod. "God bless you," she said, and pushed her cart away from us.
"God bless you too," I called after her.
And, God bless us, if we ever have another one, and it turns out to be a boy, I will be forever certain that I met a prophetess today. An amiable, aged, Iraqi prophetess, right there in the cereal aisle.
The old woman's voice was pleasant, lilting, its syllables tripping up and down in a way no American voice could mimic. Her dark eyes were locked on my baby's blue ones, and Evie smiled back at her from her seat in the shopping cart.
"Is this your little brother?" the woman asked, bending down to speak to Beth, the oldest of the two girls flanking my shopping cart.
"No, she is our sister," Beth said.
"Ah, three girls! And beautiful ones, beautiful. Such a lovely family you are." The little old lady's hair was short and white and neat, her long dark coat buttoned all the way up to her chin, and her shoes were dark and sensible. "And do you love your little sister? Of course you love her! Such a beautiful baby!"
It was standard supermarket small talk, but something about this lady--was it the accent? The smile? The earnestness as she addressed my children?--seemed different. She beamed upon my children and I with the benevolence of a fairy godmother, and all four of us smiled back at her, stopped in our tracks in the cereal aisle, utterly charmed.
After asking each of their names and crowing over how beautiful each name was, the woman turned her sharp gaze upon me.
"But you are having a boy," she said.
I opened my mouth to inform her that I was not, to the best of my knowledge, having a baby of any gender any time soon, but she continued before I could say a word.
"If you have another one, it will be a boy," she said with a firm nod.
"I guess I'll have to tell my husband that and see what he thinks," I said.
"Yes. You tell him." Another nod. "You tell him Iraqi lady told you so. I am Iraqi, from Baghdad. You should have another baby, and it will be a boy."
And then, before I could ask her name, or how she got from Baghdad to the Shop 'N' Kart in Albany, Oregon, or how she was so gosh-darn sure I am fated to be the mother of a son, she gave another beatific nod. "God bless you," she said, and pushed her cart away from us.
"God bless you too," I called after her.
And, God bless us, if we ever have another one, and it turns out to be a boy, I will be forever certain that I met a prophetess today. An amiable, aged, Iraqi prophetess, right there in the cereal aisle.
7 comments:
I have had many odd conversations in supermarkets as well. Well, are you gonna give it a go to see if her "prophecy" is correct? LOL!
Oh my, I love it when foreign born folks talk to me. I remember the woman who put in my IV at the hospital was Pakistani. She seemed hesistant to tell me so, but when I told her I thought her accent was beautiful she lit up. The Mexicans in San Antonio always blessed me and Bug. Isn't it fun to get complete stranger's opinions on these kinds of things?
Hmmm...That's weird.
Wow. That's ... an amazing story. Do let us know how #4 turns out, when you get around to it.
That is cool! Stranger things have happened... Just think, it would make a wonderful book, a fairy tale of sorts...in case you ever think about writing...;-)
So... What did Eric say? Is he willing to risk a 4th daughter on this woman? :) Are you?
You are NOT allowed to have another baby!!! lol remember how we both have three kids, all close in age... yeah I don't want another baby! We may be joining the Air Force and I don't want to try and do it with a brand new baby! Or maybe since Mandi just had a baby she can take my place in having babies with you. But if I find out you choose to have another and then get pregnant I am blaming you!
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