There are numerous benefits to being a muscular, well conditioned, 6-foot-3 girl. I can open all the pickle jars in the house. A jog to catch the bus with my stuffed backpack does not leave me winded. Most important, I can keep the good snacks on top of the fridge, out of my family's reach. Having such gifts, however, does come with a price.
Walking into any establishment is like setting off a flare gun. Little children watch me walk by, mouths agape. I believe one mother referenced Jack and the Beanstalk. A small child actually asked me once if I was from the future. You could say I was unsure how to reply. Adults usually do a double take, and from them, I can expect one thing.
The Question.
"Do you play basketball?"
Given normal circumstances, I answer The Question amicably. Something along the lines of "Actually, yes, for U.Va." This leads to a pleasant conversation about our schedule, how the team looks this year, and an invitation to a game.
Sometimes, though, The Question can get tedious. And at those times, I choose to maybe ... mix up my answer a little. I've offered several options to unsuspecting Question-poppers on separate occasions. This past summer I have been a golfer, a cheerleader, the world's largest gymnast and, my personal favorite, a pointe ballerina.
It wasn't the man in Walmart's fault, and it wasn't him I was bored with. Merely the tedium of being a basketball player day after day, to every stranger who notices that I am a little above the average 5-foot-4 woman.
So to this man, in this Walmart, on this fateful day, my answer to The Question changed.
"Actually, no. I'm a ballerina."
The man looked taken aback but seemed intrigued. "Really, like a professional?"
I laughed, amazed that he has powered through my awkward answer to make a real conversation. But I was interested to see where this was going. "Well, not yet, I'd like to be some day."
"That's great. Isn't pas de deux a bit difficult with your height?"
Now he had me on my toes. Pas de ... deux? My four years of high school French were not helping here. He knew more about ballet than I ever have, including when I was about 7 years old, which was the last time I could fit in a tutu. And let's face it - 7-year-olds think ballet means wearing the most sparkly tutu mommy can find. "Well, you'd be surprised. One of my pointe teachers told me I had the talent to work around that."
"Impressive. I think I'll give you a Google. What shows have you been in?"
At this point, he had me backed into a corner. I asked myself whether I should admit to my fib or continue with the charade. I decided to take one more step on the proverbial diving board, and this, well - it resulted in me cannon-balling into the deep end.
"I played Clara in The Nutcracker, when I was about 13."
The man laughs out loud at this and extends his hand to me. "Girl, you know you are not a ballerina!"
Caught.
"Sir, you are right." Awkward. This was the first person who did not accept my irregular answer and actually inquired about it. As irritating as The Question may be, it's probably best not to flat-out lie to strangers, I'm thinking.
He notices my grimace. "People ask you that all the time, don't they?"
"You could say that." This leads into the typical conversation. Where do you play, how's the team look, will I be seeing you at a game? Nothing new. After the 3,000th time answering that question, I have learned that even if I'm not wearing any U.Va. women's basketball gear, it is unavoidable. This is something I have to come to terms with. And although some days it may annoy me, I can still put the Rice Krispies out of everyone's reach, and this satisfies me far more.
Simone's column runs biweekly Thursdays. She can be reached at s.egwu@cavalierdaily.com.?
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