(Part of the Ebola Mom series)
Aaaaaaaand she ruined it.
At my bachelorette party, my friends had Eric record answers to a bunch of questions, which I also had to answer, then we checked to see if our answers matched up.
First question: WHAT IS YOUR “PET NAME” FOR ERIC?
Me: “Oh, well. I usually just call him ‘Babe,’ but I also sometimes refer to him as my Corgi. My little Corgi. [confused friends faces] You know, because he’s really excitable and has short little legs!”
Eric (on video) “Just ‘Babe.'”
“Oh my god, have so much fun [at your bachelorette party] tonight! At my bachelorette party I got so drunk, there were MULTIPLE strippers, and there are just these ridiculous photos of me hanging off of stripper poles and, like, penises EVERYWHERE.”
— Parent of former student, just now on the street, while holding her 5-year-old daughter’s hand.
Eric and I went out to dinner last night to toast the 1-month countdown to our wedding, and he arrived before me….
Ran into a former student and his mom on the street.
Mom: “How’s the tutoring business going?”
Me: “Great! But, you know (smiling at the kid)— I really miss the classroom!”
Mom: “Oh please. No you don’t.”
Me (laughing): “Really, I do!”
Mom: “You do NOT!”
Me: “I do!”
Mom (pointing at kid): “You don’t have to pretend for him. It’s fine.”
Me: “Ok yeah I really don’t.”
That time I got off the elevator, tried opening my apartment door, started cursing at the key/kicking the door when it wouldn’t open, then almost fell over when, while mid-kick, a man opened the door and angrily asked “MAY I HELP YOU?!”
Not my apartment.
Got off on the wrong floor.
The kind of convo you’d only have with your best friend….
Best friend: “Your ring! Oh my god! Give me your hand right now (grabs my hand)– let me look closer. How many carats is that?!”
Me: “I don’t know…”
Best friend: “You don’t KNOW?! Oh, honey, you better find out. Who doesn’t know how many carats their ring is?!”
Me: “I don’t know…it’s his grandmother’s diamond, I’m not even sure he knows…”
Best friend: “Oh he KNOWS. Trust me. You go home tonight and you ask him.”
Me: “I’m not really concerned with that kind of stuff…”
Best friend: “Well, you’re wearing the ring so GET concerned, honey.”
Only this wasn’t my best friend. This was a random lady who lives in my building. Who I met ONCE.
This is why I don’t talk to people.
Trying really hard to learn all the doormen’s names before Christmas.
Sitting at a Starbucks communal table reviewing some math work. A random guy is sitting next to me and eyeing my papers.
Guy: “Looks like some tough math. I don’t know how to do any of that stuff!”
Me: “I know, right? 8th grade math is no joke!”
Guy: “You’re in 8th grade? Really? I assumed high school, like maybe a senior!”
Me: (Confused stare. Not sure if he’s serious. Realzing he is.)
Guy: “Jeez. Should you be sitting here doing homework all alone? Where are your parents?”
Me: “I tutor an 8th grader. That’s what the papers are for.”
Me: “I am 34 years old.”
Guy: “Well this is embarrassing.”
On so many levels.