so we’re waiting for the bus to camp — me, BC, her friend, and her friend’s dad. we only met yesterday, but they seem like really nice and interesting people. we’re chatting about all sorts of things — scooter libby, the idiocy of the president, that sort of thing that passes for pleasantries here in the nation’s capitol.

then, BC looks at my arm, which isn’t covered by a sleeve. “hey,” she says to her friend, “look at the holes in my mama’s arm!”

yep. that’s a conversation killer.

i had to explain to the father that, in spite of all appearances, i am not a smack-shooting mother but rather a person who gets hooked up to an IV every few weeks for some life-saving IVIG.

yeah. i’m sure we’re getting invited over for a playdate. real soon, too.