Mmmmm… toes

By Mir
July 17, 2004

Last night I took lots and lots of (prescribed) drugs and slept for about twelve hours and today I am… better.  Not completely, but mostly.  Hurray!
Although this is the ex’s weekend, our little social butterfly has two birthday parties to attend, today.  I handle birthday party detail (no matter whose weekend it is).  It makes sense, I guess.  I’m the one who shops for and wraps the gifts, I’m the one who knows the kids and moms in question, and I’m the one who can get through these things without making an ass of myself.
So, today–still feeling a wee bit headachey and more than a bit hung-over-ish from the meds–I got the birthday stuff in order, shuffled Chickadee inside when the ex dropped her off, got her dressed in her party finery, did her hair, and set out to Party #1. 
Everything went fine until I bid her good-bye (along with my standard admonishment to use her very best manners) and she sped off with the pack of other 6-year-olds.  I then turned to the mother and offered her my cell number, in case of emergency, and we chatted a bit as she wrote it down.  No problem.  With joy in my heart, I turned to leave and said, “Thank you so much, Esmerelda!”*
I was halfway out the door when I realized.  Her name. isn’t. Esmerelda. 
“NO!” I whirled around in a panic.  “That’s not right!” I exclaimed, still wracking my brain.  “JEN!  Your name is Jen!”
“I wasn’t going to say anything,” she said with a wry little chuckle.
“Oh my God!” I continued, both feet stuffed in my mouth, now, “What is wrong with me?  I know your name is Jen!  I know that!  I’m so sorry!  Esmerelda is someone else’s mom!”
It was at this point that I saw the first glint of fear in her eyes.  But you see, I couldn’t stop talking.  I had already crossed the line from flustered to full-out babbling.
“You know, I had a hysterectomy a few weeks ago, did I tell you that?  I did!  Just about three weeks ago.  And my hormones, oh you wouldn’t believe it, it’s crazy, my hormones are all screwed up and it’s affecting my mind, I forget things, I call people by the wrong name!  Obviously!  HAHA!  I can’t stop talking!  Help me!  I am discussing my ovaries with you and we barely know each other!  Please, I need help!”
“If you leave right now, I will pretend your daughter was adopted and therefore free of whatever mental illness you are clearly suffering from.”
“It’s a deal.”
And away I went, whispering this solemn prayer to myself as I drove away: “Dear Lord, please give me the strength to be silent when I return to pick her up.”
* No, I didn’t call her Esmerelda, nor is her name Jen.  You never know what some freak is going to Google.  But the real names in question?  About as disparate as Esmerelda and Jen.  Truly a noteworthy social gaffe on my part.


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