I have an interesting relationship with the postal workers at the Bear Creek station.
Because one of them asked when I applied for a passport if I knew what a bubbler was, I was inspired to write a humorous essay about Wisconsin code that was published in On Wisconsin magazine.
Yesterday, I was in line to mail two quilts I'd sold when the woman about to wait on me said to her co-worker, "Oh, this is one of my favorite customers. She always has a smile on her face. She's one of the bright spots in my day."
Truthfully, I don't recall her ever helping me before, and I'm usually pretty good with that. But I do smile a lot (hence the charming 'expression lines' like tiger stripes from my eyes to my mouth). And I am frequently mistaken for someone else.
For years, people have asked me if I'm a teacher. It seems to go in streaks -- I won't hear anything for a while, then the question will arise three or four times in one week. I was in the grocery store once when a bunch of kids hugged me, crying out Miss Someone's name. I corrected them, but that was kind of nice. Random hugs from children should not be discouraged.
I'm a little perplexed by the notion that I have the face of a teacher, however. (I've thought about responding to "Are you a teacher?" with "No, I'm an international supermodel." I always have had a rich, full fantasy life.) It's not a bad thing to be accused of, but what exactly does it mean? Recently, someone said it's because I look welcoming and kind, which is a nice thing to say about me and about teachers.
All I know is, I can accept the question better when it's a younger person who's asking. The day some 60-year-old inquires if I was his fifth grade teacher is the day I go for Botox and the Lifestyle Lift. And, possibly, my gun.