Ten years ago this month, I packed up my things, bucked up my courage and left home for university.
From there, the universe has taken me a bit over here, a bit over there, inside, outside and back around. Now, truly living in the same postal code as my sister for the first time since I was 18 and she was 15, I find myself perpetually surprised by the fact that she’s a grown up, too. Grown up diploma, grown up job, grown up Blackberry and car and wardrobe. Yup, it’s all there.
Naturally, when she asked to bring a date to the birthday dinner I (somehow) threw together for my mother this month, I found myself again surprised in one of those “How did we get so old?” kinda’ ways. But that’s not the point of this story.
Said ‘Date’ was friendly, handsome, polite and came bearing gifts. Really – a 10 if ever there was one. To mark the occasion, I wore my best jeans (read: only jeans), prettiest top (read: only clean top) and even considered washing my hair (read: this ain’t no regular Tuesday!). What’s more I promised not to embarrass Al. What I should have done was focus on not embarassing myself.
Because just as the meal was coming to a close, and Said Friendly, Handsome, Polite, Gift-Bearing Date was preparing to leave, we somehow got on the topic of my life PK (read: Pre-Katie). As in what I did for a living. As in what my job was. As in – and this is where the wine really kicked in – me, formally announcing to Said Friendly, Handsome, Polite, Gift-Bearing Date “You know, I really did used to be somebody. I swear!”
Now the statement in and of itself would have been funny or silly or what have you. Except I decided to punctuate it but running upstairs to my desk, grabbing a stack of business cards (are you cringing yet?) and actually handing Said Friendly, Handsome, Polite, Gift-Bearing Date one and proclaiming “See? Business cards and everything!” (Go ahead, close your eyes and cringe, you know you want to).
Now the act in and of itself maybe could have been funny or silly or what have you. Except when Said You-Know-Who glanced down at the card in his hand to politely acknowledge receipt, then looked up and said “George? Your name is actually George?”
Which is when I realized I’d just handed him someone else’s business card. A travel agent friend. No one to do with me. I flipped violently through the stack in my hand like George Bailey on Christmas Eve when Uncle Billy’s lost the cash and he can’t believe it’s not there. Alas, no cards with my name on them. Just George The Travel Agent, and a few for Angelo – our mechanic.
Of course, this is the part of the post where I’m supposed to say that I’ll always be somebody – and somebody bloody important, too. I’m a mom. M. O. M. And that is a forever job that I don’t take lightly, and care about more than anyone could ever know.
But you know that shmultsy stuff already. So instead this is just going to be the part of the post where I vow:
1) Never to drink at a dinner party again (ha)
2) Never to introduce myself to any of Al’s dates again (double ha)
and perhaps most importantly
3) Never to replay this scene again, especially without checking my teeth for parsley bits before launching into my diatribe. Because yes – folks – things can always be worse. And they were.
Moral of the story? Clearly I don’t get out enough anymore. The End.
