Honey, You're Not Going To Believe This by Beth Boswell Jacks
We've all, at one time or another, forget someone's name. Is it Sally? Carol? Mary? Darn-it-all, it is right there on the tip of the tongue just aching to be uttered but your brain doesn't register the name on the tip of the tongue. Beth shares a humorous story her husband's work-around for that problem. Which leads to Humor Is Relative asking: what do you do to save face in this situation?
Many years ago my husband Gerald (aka G-Man) and I had a long discussion on a most important subject regarding a form of immersing oneself in hot water. Most of us deal with this "getting into hot water" every day of our lives. Sometimes we endure great embarrassment because of it. Usually we experience terrible confusion. Often insomnia results. This horrible condition called I-Know-The-Face-But-I-Can't-Remember-The-Name has happened to all of us. It's no fun.
G-Man and I were discussing the best way to handle such a situation. Honest gal that I am, I said the best way to handle it is to say right up front, "Oh, my goodness. I know your face but I can't remember your name." Then hug bigtime, maybe even plant a sloppy smooch on the person's cheek when the name is spoken, and squeal: "Of course, [I think] I remember you!"
G-Man said no way. The man is a semi-politician, see. He knows almost everybody around, and he said there was no way he would embarrass folks by telling them he couldn't remember something as important to them as their very names. He said all one has to do is shake hands and mumble a little so it sounds as if you've said a name. We argued back and forth, but he's a lawyer/mouthpiece and I can't ever win, so I hushed.
A few days after that heated discussion we went to Silver Dollar City in Arkansas with our four children for a short vacation. After lugging umpteen bags into our cozy cabin we headed for . . . where else? The goofy golf course. G-Man took the kids down to play goofy golf while I stayed with a book in a shady area with benches.
You should know that I can get the data of a stranger's life history before a stick of Juicy Fruit goes stale, so within ten minutes I was chatting away with my benchmate. This nice lady was from Missouri. She was there in Arkansas with her family, and she was waiting for her goofy golfing kids while her husband attended a dental seminar. We hit it off right away.
"Hey," I said, "would you help me play a trick on my husband?"
"Sure," she said.
I put the game plan before her and she was all for it. So this woman I'd never laid eyes on in my life proceeded to hike down to the goofy golfers with me.
"Gerald!" I hollered. "Hold up a minute. You're not going to believe this. Look who's here!"
I pointed to the lady. G-Man looked blank.
"I was sitting there reading," I said, "and she came walking up out of the blue. This is absolutely unreal!"
G-Man's brow began to furrow. I grabbed and hugged the living daylights out of my lady-partner-in-crime.
The children stood there with their little golf clubs. I heard one whisper to her siblings: "Oh, boy--Mama's found another cousin."
I could see wheels turning in G-Man's head. After several seconds his face brightened. He patted the lady's arm and gushed, "Well, brurmphstf. How are you? It's been a long time."
"Sure has," she said.
"Uh," he stammered, "how have you been?"
"Fine," she said. (Gosh, she was magnificent.)
"You here at Silver Dollar City on vacation?" (Duh.)
"Yes, Ron and the children and I are here for a dental seminar."
Dental. Dental. Dental. Ron. Ron. Ron who? Who do I know? I could see the words somersaulting in his brain.
Well, the torture was too great. I couldn't stand to see the man suffer, so I started laughing like crazy. The lady did too, and he knew he'd been had.
G-Man's face flushed like a barrel of ketchup. He tried to be a good sport, but he was stewing; however, I've maintained to this day he got what he deserved at that goofy golf course. Yes, indeed.
Hey, Brurmphstf, are you out there, girl? Are you still grinning?
About This Story's Author:
Beth Boswell Jacks is a syndicated personal essay/humor columnist from Mississippi. Author of one book, Jacks has also published over 40 stories and poems in magazines and literary journals. She may be reached at bethjacks@hotmail.com.
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