So my mom calls me up the other night. "I've got a message here on my machine from someone calling for you from your old university. Do you want his name and number?"
"Sure." Hmmmm. I don't recognize this name. But the last name is the same as my old English teacher, maybe it's about him?
So I call the number and this guy answers, and slurs the name my mom gave me.
Right then, I should have hung up.
But did I? No. That would be rude.
"Hi." I said, "My mom called me with this number. I used to go to Old University. My name is Liz?"
What followed was really sad. It's this guy who I have really no memory of. He's drunk. And what he remembers about me is my height and my...shape. Specifically the shape and size of my rack as it was then. Which was quite large for someone of my height. Even larger now, but let's not tell him that. And did I mention he's drunk? Eighteen-year-old-boy-at-first-frat-party kind of drunk. And I couldn't place his name, or his description of his long-ago self. Or anything else about him.
"I'm truly sorry. I really don't remember you. It was 19 years ago. I'm very flattered that you remembered me, but I can't recall you at all. Goodbye"
Through My Glasses, Dorkily
6 years ago