I’m alone at the cinema waiting for the movie to start, half way through my first box of Raisinets when I hear the following conversation in the row behind me. .
Woman One: “You’re a saint, Sherry. Adopting that little girl no one else wanted. I am just so proud of you!”
Woman Two: “We’d wanted an infant, but adoption’s so hard these days, especially when you’re older, so we took a three year old.”
The sound of popcorn munching.
Woman Two: “Just think what kind of a life she’d be facing if it weren’t for you! You’re a saint, Sherry!”
“Excuse me,” I say, turning towards them, “I hate to interrupt, but I was adopted.”
They’re smiling at me. There’s nothing like an English accent at times like these.
“Really?”
“Yes. And isn’t it true that you are adopting a child because you couldn’t have children of your own and wanted to be a parent?”
“Yes,” says Woman Two.
“Then you’re not adopting because you’re a saint, are you?”
“I suppose not.”
“I don’t mean to be rude, honestly I don’t, but I just think people should be honest about what they’re doing, that’s all. Raisinet anyone?”