This, written September 12, 2013, on the blog I had prior to this one, is another example:
We’re celebrating M’s birthday today, because I’m at Tough Mudder for her actual birthday.
When I went to pick up her cake, this conversation actually happened:
Me: Hi, I’m here to pick up a cake. The name’s ——-.
Her: Do you know what it says on the cake?
Me: I do! It says, “Happy Birthday, M.”
Her: I think I saw that one.
{pulls cake from fridge and shows it to me}
Me: Yep, everything’s spelled correctly. Cool.
Her: Is she adopted?
Me: No.
Her: Oh, she’s not?
Me: No, she’s not.
Her: Oh. You must run one of those programs.
Me {thinking, “FFS.”}: I’m sorry. What?
Her: You know, one of those programs.
Me: I have no idea what you’re talking about.
Her: You know, one of those programs where they celebrate all the kids’ birthdays.
Me: No, she’s my daughter.
Her: Oh. You must have one of those…one of those…I don’t know what the correct term is.
Me: Um, that her father is Chinese?
Her: Yeah, that. I didn’t know if I should say Oriental or Asian.
Me: Well, you should never say Oriental.
Her: Okay. Well, it’s just that so many of them are adopted, so it makes sense.
Me: It also makes sense that I gave birth to her.
Her: Okay, well, have a nice day.
FFS.
I should not have had to have that conversation.
It’s just a birthday cake.
The Practical Feminist 