So our pretty little girl was nominated to be on the Homecoming Court for her high school. All the potential homecoming queens were escorted by their fathers or uncle or some other male parental figure from a convertible car onto a stage during the homecoming football game’s halftime show, where the winner of the title of homecoming queen was announced.

You would think that at a school where the winning homecoming queen is someone with practically all consonants in her first name (Chyi Shin), the below wouldn’t happen, but such is my stock in a racially mixed relationship:

When Mr. W and I got there, Daughter led her dad, me, and another one of her friends onto the field where the teacher coordinating the event greeted them, and gave Mr. W a rundown of where he would stand, when he’d come down, where he’d escort Daughter as she exited the convertible, where the stage would be. At some point he turned and acknowledged me, asking, “Are you with Yearbook?”
“No, she’s with us,” Daughter said.
“She’s stepmom,” Mr. W explained, as I said something simultaneously about pseudomom. The man apologized, and then I wondered — was that actually a compliment? Cuz, did he think I was a high school kid on the Yearbook staff? Cuz THAT’d be flattering.