I must have some mild form of Asperger's.
Seriously. There's no other way to explain how I can be so frightfully awkward sometimes.
So a couple of weeks ago, I met my friend Amy at a high-end grocery store. I had just gotten home from a long night on call, so my hair was a mess, my face was oily, and there was a peanut butter stain on my pants. She wanted to take advantage of a 15% off sale, and I just wanted to get some dinner. And since Amy is non-judgmental, I figured she wouldn't mind seeing me in all my dirty glory.
She didn't. But I really ought to know by now that when I look my absolute worst, I am bound to run into someone. (See here, here, and here.)
So as Amy and I were perusing the pastries and desserts, I saw someone familiar. Realizing who it was, I shrieked, grabbed Amy's hand and pulled her down to the ground with me to hide behind a large display of condiments. It was my first boyfriend. I haven't seen him in years and then on a day when I look terrible, I randomly run into him in a grocery store? What are the odds? Seriously, fate has a wicked sense of humor.
Amy yelped as I pulled her arm down. "Who are we hiding from?" she whispered. "An ex-boyfriend," I replied. She peered around the corner and upon seeing who it was, asked, "but wasn't that like five years ago??"
No, it's actually been seven years. One full dog year. What is wrong with me?
In the midst of our whispering, someone came up behind us.
"Michelle?"
It was him. He had heard someone cry out, and being a responsible doctor and all, had come over to investigate.
"Oh hi! We were just, uh, checking out these cool Frontera Grill salsas. Look at the crazy variety!"
Amy was cracking up, and after making up some obviously fake excuse about her cupcake being ready, she darted away.
We made small talk. Very awkward small talk.
"So, I hear you've moved into that new condo building along the river. It looks so nice!"
"Yeah, sadly, the monthly mortgage bill is not so nice."
"Haha. So how's your intern year going? Oh! My intern from last week is in your program!"
"Oh yeah? Who?"
My mind blanked. I had just spent a whole 80-hour work week with him, and I could not for the life of me come up with a name.
"Ummm, it starts with a J. Uhhh, oh JAMES! James! His name is James. Yes, James."
I said James four times. Count them. I don't know why, but I couldn't stop the word vomit.
"Oh, there are a few James. Does he have a last name?"
He was jokingly mocking me, but the thing is, again, my mind blanked. Seriously, I had worked closely with this guy. I had introduced him so many times to my patients. What was wrong with me?
"Oh last name! Yeah, he has one of those. [Nervous laughter.] Uh, it rhymes with moose. Tousse. James Tousse. That's my intern."
"Hm, I don't think I've met him yet."
"He's tall, incredibly smart, and All-American...he kinda looks like an Abercrombie guy."
He started saying something, but in the midst of my embarrassment over not knowing my own intern's name, I only heard the last bit: "....man, competition!"
It was my turn to say something, as he looked at me. So I blurted out, "oh he's not! He's married!"
There was an awkward pause. Did I really just say that? Holy cow, I did. WHY? Why did I just say that? I still have no idea what prompted my subconscious to associate competition with marriage. I floundered for words. "Oh you meant for chief resident! Dude, no, you're going to be great. Uh, I'm going to go find my friend and see how her cupcake came out...but good luck with everything and uh...I'll see you around!"
I high-tailed it out of there as soon as possible, my face as red as it would be after a couple of drinks.
What is wrong with me?! Seriously! It's been seven years!
Sigh. I must have Asperger's.
3 years ago
