I tend to mother people. My children... neighborhood children ... people I work with ... people I barely know... all of them.
I keep my office completely stocked. People come to me if they need a lint roller, ibuprofen, safety pins, nail polish remover, hand sanitizer, greeting cards, granola bars, etc. Does someone need a ride? Hop in and I'll take you. Advice about your love life? Let's go to lunch and I'll share my limited wisdom. I worry about people. I care about people.
But when 45 year old men start calling me mom, I have to draw the line. Especially because he really means it. Seriously? I know the guy has a developmental disability, but do I look that old? Now I have a complex. I have to change something and soon.
Get your own darn safety pins.
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