Monday, January 7, 2013


My current roommate has this notion that I'm an airhead.  She tries to soften it by explaining that I'm like the absent-minded professor, but the truth is that I'm no professor--so if it's true, I'm just a flake.  In any case, I find myself heartily protesting.  It seems inimical to my identify as a solid, reliable brunette--not a spacey blonde like my older sister was in high school (sorry, Jen--you've since become the world's most pragmatic human, so no hard feelings).

I admit I certainly have my moments.  I was remembering today how I went to a friend's house a couple of years ago and we took off our shoes at the front door.  The next day, I noticed a strange pair of flip flops under the coffee table in the living room but didn't think much of it.  They were still there a few days later, and I remember feeling vaguely annoyed that my roommate hadn't moved them yet.  Anyway, a couple of weeks later, another friend contacted me to ask if I had her shoes--her nice, Reef flip flops--since they had disappeared at the door when she had gone to leave.  All that had been left had been a cheap pair of flip flops a size and a half too small for her.  Sure enough, I had worn her Reefs home and left them under the coffee table without noticing that they were too big and much nicer than mine--and then I had proceeded to forget that I had left them there.  Genius.


Jenica said...

Look at the vocabulary you used in your David Foster Wallace post and tell me that you are not professorial. It totally fits!

Czechdeb said...

Ha! Yep, a total wannabe. Such I am.