Nicholas and I went to the YMCA to register for membership. I felt like some sort of huge exotic spider. No one quite knew what to say or do. I let Nicholas handle the details. The young woman behind the counter was probably thinking, “How do I tell them they need some training sessions? Do they know what they’re doing?” We know what we’re doing. We don’t need a trainer. This is a fine place to note that when Amish and Mennonite youth decide to play sports, they often excel because they are so fit from farm work. So it’s kind of culturally illiterate to assume Plain people know nothing about sports and fitness.
And then the photo ID! “I’ll need you to remove your hats,” she says. Nicholas takes off his watchcap. I say as sternly as I can, in my best matuschka voice, “Mine does not come off.” Little blonde pause: “Oh, right.”