Last week, I spontaneously booked tickets to a llama farm. Since then, for some reason, my loved ones (more accurately, the ten or so people I bother on occasion) had many questions, all of them some variant of “… Why?” The tone ranged from my friends’ curious “oh, why” to Mom’s pained “oh, WHY?” because, surprise, I’d signed her up, too. (My status as Default Favorite Daughter has its perks.)
Everyone: Why are you seeing llamas?
Me: Why aren’t you seeing llamas?
I was cagey with my reason for wanting to see llamas because I wasn’t sure it existed. Had I signed up for this event just for its name, “ShangriLlama?” Was I throwing myself into interesting situations to overcompensate for my personality? Honestly, who could say? I just planned to wait until after the visit to explain myself in hindsight and, until then, pretend I…
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