Monday, November 21, 2011


The Set Up:
 Yesterday I woke with laryngitis. If I really try I can get out this strange monotone that sounds a lot like Twiki from the old TV show Buck Rogers in the 25th Century. Dad was on his way to his Social Club, the local Moose Lodge, to put on a Sunday morning breakfast. He invited us, Handsome wanted to go, so we went.

The Story:
We walked in and I made sure to stop by the kitchen to say hello to my Dad and Sister, who were both working the breakfaast, and let them know we were there. Handsome saw some other kids, and though he had been moaning theatrically in hunger on the drive there he was off like a shot to play. Dad emerged from the kitchen and decided to introduce me to some people.
Now, I have no memory for names, and will frequently forget the names of my extended family members unless I have prompting. I was being introduced to folks who I knew I was going to forget in an insultingly short length of time, and I couldn't even say 'hello, nice to meet you' in a very audible fashion.
I was trying to say hello to people, and I realized that it wasn't my Dad's fault I couldn't speak. He honestly might not have noticed, figuring that he couldn't hear me because he has trouble hearing anything. He was being the good host and showing me around, when he introduced me to one elderly woman who was sitting at a table having breakfast with some friends.
"Rob, this is Blah-Blah. Blah-Blah, this is my son, Rob."
I warned you I was horrible with names.
Well, Blah-Blah looked at me, and then at Dad, and said to Dad "I would have known he was your son without the introduction."
"Why's that?" Dad said with a grin. I braced myself for what I knew was coming next.
"Because he looks just like -"

We interrupt my remembered moment of painful anticipation to explain why. Why I was dreading Blah-Blah's next words. I am 42. My Dad is 63.  My Grandfather if Eighty Ahemumblemumble. I have frequently been told that I look just like them. Not a young them. Them. Being told I look just like someone half again my age, or even double my age can sometimes be depressing. I love them both, but that doesn't mean I want to be them. This has gone so far as to have at one time, someone who met my grandfather in his later years, upon seeing my name on my credit card, assume I was my Grandfather's son.
Not grandson.
Okay, the explanation is now over, and we return you to my moment of terrible trepidation.

Old Mrs. Blah-Blah looked at me, and then my Dad, and said, and I quote:
"I would have known he was your son without the introduction, because he looks just like his sister."

There was a moment where the three of us were silent, and all you could hear was the hubbub from all the surrounding tables. Suddenly I half-whispered/half croaked "Oh my God, I love you!"
To which she replied "It's nice to meet you too!"
She smiled and waved as my feet got me the hell out of there before my mouth could scrape together the wherewithal to ask her to drop the old stick she was sitting next to and run away with me...

I wish that for just this once I could remember someone's name after meeting them just one time, but I can't.
All I can do is hope that God knows who I'm talking about when I'm wishing all manner of good things be bestowed upon Mrs. Blah- Blah!
I'm sure He'll figure it out!

Talk to you later!

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