Wednesday, January 4, 2012

Yeah, I saw you.

I can't seeeeeeeee yooooouuu!
Dear Woman Sitting Across From Me on the Bus Tonight:

Yeah, I know you're my friend's friend's friend's wife. You might remember that we met on New Year's Eve. Then again, you might not. I barely did. But then you tossed your hair to the side and I realized why you looked so damn familiar.

Did you notice me shove my face into my iPhone so fast I almost smacked myself in the forehead? That was my patented ostrich move. My modern-day invisibility cloak. If I don't make eye contact with you, then you probably won't notice me. It's a skill I've almost perfected.

You see, I suck at names. It's nothing personal. It's just that unless I've seen your name written down somewhere, it just flies out of my head the moment we're introduced. I am really good at remembering birthdays or hometowns or what you wrote your BA thesis on. But names? Not so much.

I'm a big fan of the name tag, but until they recognized as everyday wear at the level of diamond solitaires or leather watches, I've sort of resigned myself to being god-awful at names. Pretending to be invisible so we don't end up in conversation prevents me from exchanging any more information than I already have with you and then proceeding to feel awful that I know that your Aunt Martha out in Boston is having gallbladder surgery tomorrow when I can't even remember your name. Except that I'm always the one who ends up babbling about Aunt Martha (and I don't even have an Aunt Martha....), so to avoid falling into such pits of conversation, I just pretend not to see you.



Dear Guy I Dashed Right In Front Of While Exiting the Train:

Yeah. I saw you too. Sorry we haven't spoken since last year.

What's your name again?


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