I went out with my sister for dinner this evening, to an Indian restaurant we’re particularly fond of because the waiters are super nice. They even recognise us, which is really bizarre, because an interesting/boring fact about me is that no one ever remembers who I am.
I have a very unrecognisable face, apparently. When I mention this to people in passing, they usually say ‘Oh, no, don’t be silly’ in the same way they will if you mention how you’ve got a bit plump around the edges, even if you have, but the thing is, I quite like getting a second go at a first impression. I spaz out a little on a first meeting (technical terminology right there). I get nervous, and then I talk too much, and then I make bad jokes. I met someone for the first time the other day, and I made a bad joke, and then hurriedly had to tell him I was joking, because he looked at me like I was a mental. When I assured him I was joking, he said ‘Phew. I thought you were a mental,’ which at least gave me the satisfaction of knowing that I’m good at gauging reactions.
Anyway, I usually balls up first impressions with my general oddness, so once I know I’ve ballsed up beyond redemption I’ll ask for my new friend-to-be’s favourite movie, band and holiday destination, and then I will slowly walk backwards and disappear into the crowd. Then I’ll meet them again a week or so later, and will wow them with how similar we are: ‘Well, my favourite band is The Smiths… oh, yours is too? And you love Quentin Tarantino as well?? Crikey, we are like peas in a pod!’ etc etc, and POW, they think I’m awesome as I am basically presenting who they are right back to them, and we become great pals. Consequently, the majority of my casual friendships are based on lies. Being forgettable definitely has its virtues.
How did I get on to this? Oh, I remember – the Indian waiters who recognise me. Though actually, I think they recognise my sister, and me as an extension of her, which is more or less fair. Anyway. I wanted to swing by The Frenchman (a pub in town, not an actual Frenchman) to say happy birthday to and buy a shot for an old friend, pre-meal. Sara (aforementioned sister, keep up) spent ages faffing, and consequently by the time we left the house I was so hungry I nearly stole a biscuit from the dog (he enjoys them so much, they must be tasty).
In the car I mentioned to Sara that I’ve been much hungrier since Christmas, and I blamed the increased amounts of food typical around the festive time for stretching my already ample stomach. Sara nodded wisely.
“I think we have Prada Willy.” she said.
“I definitely don’t,” I informed her. “I’m sure I would have noticed.”
“No, it’s a genetic disorder where you never feel full.” she said, acknowledging my hilarious joke with a wry smile. “You’re always hungry if you have Prada Willy. I think we have that.”
Then we joked immaturely about Prada willies, and were thusly entertained until we reached the pub.
Once inside, I hustled my birthday chum Matt to the bar for his obligatory shot (black sambuca, if you’re interested). I ordered a small coke for Sara and I, because as previously mentioned, I was really quite peckish. Two large cokes arrived, and we dutifully drank them as quickly as possible, and then made a hasty exit to the restaurant, the fizzy beverages sloshing around our full little tummies as we went. We enjoyed a very tasty meal which only just fit in alongside the pint or so of coke already holding court, and then at the end our lovely waiter came over and told us we could have any drink we wanted, on the house. We looked at each other in dismay. He offered so sweetly that I felt we couldn’t say no, so we asked if we could share a small coke.
Error.
I think he interpreted our reluctance to have a coke each as not wanting to be too greedy, and so he brought us two large cokes, as though to reward us for our unselfish natures.
So we had to drink it, partially so as not to seem rude but mostly because he might not offer next time if we didn’t, and then we made our even sloshier way back to the car. As we drove away Sara shifted uncomfortably, cradling her full belly as though it might rupture.
“Well, at least we’ve found out that we don’t have Prada Willy.”
