SAA Ep. #41: Not Remembering Having Met People

I took the girls I watch to the pool today.  Since I had cleverly packed a bag full of my swimming stuff and cleverly forgotten it and left it on my bed in my apartment, I was not able to go swimming with them.  So I sat nicely shaded at one of those awesome tables with a huge umbrella and still somehow managed to get a sunburn.

I'd been there about twenty minutes when one of the moms from the neighborhood came up and started talking to me as if she'd known me my entire life.  "I saw you over here and wanted to come see how you were doing."

Now, usually I'm terrible with names, but good with faces.  I've gone to the same church for five and a half years.  I've sung in the choir for about four of those years.  There are still names of people in the choir that I just don't know.  There are many more people in the church whose names I just don't know.  But I know their faces.  If I've met someone even once, I usually at least remember the person's face.  This person?  Well, I had no idea who she was.  I mean, she WAS wearing sunglasses, so I guess that might have thrown me a little.  As she started talking, I just figured that she was someone I'd met once or twice and maybe shared a "gee aren't these kids so cute" moment.

But then this lady asked me a question that led me to believe that we've had more than just a superficial conversation.  As I was trying to figure out who she was, she asked me, "So how is your book going?"

I looked down at my hands, at the book that I was reading, wondering if she were possibly talking about that.  But no.  She had that annoying look that accompanies every person who asks that dreaded question, "How is your book going?"

I kind of made one of those "so-so" hand gestures and managed a weak smile.  She said something else before departing.  I can't remember what it was.  I was too busy trying to figure out when I'd had a conversation with her about the fact that I write books.  I mean, I just don't go up to strangers and say, "Hi!  My name is Ruth!  I write books!  I like Dragons!  My second favorite color is maroon!  I'm obsessed with Rich Mullins!  My sister once got bitten by a muskrat!  Be my best friend EVER!"  Maybe if I did, I'd have more friends, but somehow I doubt it.  There is a reason someone like me was born inside a shell.  The figurative kind--not the candy coated kind.  I think being an M&M would be slightly problematic for me.  I am reminded of Spaceballs when "Pizza the Hutt" ate himself to death.  If I were an M&M, my fate would be similar.

AND...back to my story.

The only thing I can figure is that either I was completely out of it when I did meet and speak with this person, or I really have only had surface level conversations with her and other people have been talking to her about me behind my back.  I don't really like to think about people talking about me because 1) my writing and I aren't cool enough to be the subject of almost total strangers' conversations and 2) that kind of thinking makes me seem paranoid--and I'm finally just now starting to get used to the idea that "THEY" probably aren't all out to get me.

But then there was this one time in college where I walked into the office of my new advisor, an English professor.  I never had the privilege of taking this lady's class, and I'd never spoken to her before.  But I sat down at her desk and the first words out of her mouth were, "So I hear you're a wonderful writer."  Apparently the English department HAD been talking about me.  And "THEY" might have even been out to get me. 

So I'm really not sure what happened, but apparently I meet people and then forget about it later.  Maybe I have amnesia.  Maybe "THEY" came and got me and erased my memory of having met this person.  How many other people have "THEY" made me forget?  What other things have "THEY" done to me?

I'mma go hide in my room now...

...and put tin foil on my head...

...just for good measure...

SAA: Episode #33: Short Story

It's reached some kind of record-breaking hot temperatures here in the grand state of NC this week.  I've worn capris.  I've even worn shorts--and that's unusual.  I usually don't break the shorts out until July.

The reason why I wait until it's unbearably hot to wear shorts is because I don't like the reactions I get from people when I wear shorts.  I mean, most people are grown up enough to keep their thoughts to themselves, but there's always AT LEAST one rude person who makes some kind of rude comment EVERY summer...usually when there are several other people around to overhear it.  The comment ALWAYS goes something like this:

"GOOD LORD, CHILD!  YOU HAVE THE MOST FREAKISHLY HORRIFIC PALE-WHITE LEGS I'VE EVER SEEN IN MY LIFE!!!!!"

Yes.  Thank you, rude person.  Thank you so much for pointing out my ghastly/ghostly white legs.  I obviously wasn't aware of my insane paleness before you told me about it in front of several innocent bystanders.  I mean, after thirty-one years of living inside my fair skin, staring at my pasty reflection day after day, I honestly didn't know I was pale.  So thanks.  Thanks for that.

But, no.  Rude person is usually not done.  Rude person often feels the need to give me advice.

"YOU NEED TO GET A TAN!  GO GET SOME SUN IMMEDIATELY!"

Yes.  Thank you, again, rude person.  Getting a tan!  Getting some sun!  Why didn't I think of that?  Oh!  That's right!  Because in the thirty-one years of living inside my fair skin, I've learned that it's physically impossible for me to get a tan.  All I can hope for is painful sunburn, probable skin cancer, and the eventual sweet release of death.

Yay.  Sunshine.

Think I'm being overly sarcastic?  You try having third degree sunburn all over the majority of your back when you're seven years old.  That's the sickest I've ever been and hopefully will ever be.  I was in feverish pain for weeks.  I was delirious and kept talking to people who weren't there.  My shirts kept growing into my open sores and had to be painfully separated.  ...and every time I get even the slightest touch of sunburn (which can happen to me with only a few minutes of sun exposure), I relive it all.   So yes, as a matter of fact, I am good buddies with my SPF 85.  The sun and I have a very cautious relationship.  And I don't like it when people question that relationship.

 I guess it's not SO bad.  I have learned to accept peoples' reactions to my paleness over the years, but it's taken a while.  In middle school, I got picked on a lot.  Racism is horrible and stupid, and I'm not comparing my trivial plight to any real racial prejudice that anyone has had to endure.  But let me tell you--it's just plain WEIRD to get ridiculed for the color of my skin by other white people.  The other kids called me names...like "Casper Legs"...and wouldn't let me join in any of the tan-people games.  One girl even repeatedly told me that she hated me because I was "too dumb to know how to get a tan." 

Then in my early twenties, I worked in the One-Year-Old room at a summer preschool program.  One day I wore shorts, and the entire preschool staff (not exaggerating) took turns coming down to the One-Year-Old room just to see my pale legs.  I felt like the freak show.  Okay.  Apparently, I was the freak show.  Maybe I should start charging money.  "Step right up!  Five dollars!  Just five dollars and you can get a glimpse of the whitest legs on God's green earth!"

Okay, so I know there are other solutions.  There are self-tanners and stuff.  But apparently my melanin deficiency doesn't allow for a "natural" tan color from an "unnatural tanning" product.  Self-tanners (and I've tried more than a few kinds) all give me the gorgeous complexion of an Oompa Loompa.  Seriously, if I have a choice of being freakishly white or vividly orange, I'll just be pale, thank you very much.

And I could just wear long pants all the time, but when temperatures get up in the mid-90's, that's hard.  Just because I'm pale doesn't mean I should have to sweat all summer, right?  Right. 

So if you see me wearing shorts this summer, don't look at my legs.  AVERT YOUR EYES!  The garish whiteness might cause you permanent blindness. 

That's right.  Super-human paleness.  Just one of the super powers that Socially Awkward Girl provides!