LJ Idol
Mistake Identity
I'm not going to lie. I am not usually a victim of mistaken identity. I am 6 foot 3 inches tall. And I am a chic. Really, you can't miss me. And if, by chance, you mistake someone for me, chances are you're talking to a college football player or a young oak tree.
If you don't immediately recognize me by my height, chances are you will recognize my children. I have 2 very tall, very noisy toddler twin boys. Apparently in rural Michigan, twins are like celebrities. I get stopped on the streets and people force me to talk to them in grocery store lines. Usually the conversation falls apart around the time they choose to sputter, "You sure have your hands full!" I've stopped pretending that's even remotely funny. I hear someone say that to me at least once a day. Really, it wasn't funny the first time I heard it. It certainly isn't funny after nearly two years of daily repetition.
Now, if my height and my children weren't the dead giveaway, you're probably blind. I'm sorry. That must be difficult. There isn't a lot of Braille resources around here. No fear! You will certainly know it's me when you hear me speak. I speak loudly and often. My voice has a very unique quality to it. Some people have musical, beautiful voices. I sound like Bea Arthur with a head cold. Trust me. Once you've heard me once, you'll never forget me, much to your own horror.
Once I was told I looked like Julia Stiles. But, I took that with a grain of salt because I was a 25 year old sitting in on my husband's high school band class and the person giving me the compliment was a rather "enthusiastic" bari sax player. He appeared to have a rather large crush on my saxophone. (It is a pretty hot horn, but it was still weird.) It was still flattering, until I remembered "That One Time in Vegas".
I was 7 months pregnant with twins, looking like a hot mess, and waddling through the Bellagio with my family when a man ran in to me from behind and said, ""Scuse me, Sir." I stood there with a confused look on my face, he glanced at me, made a horrified expression, muttered he was sorry, and ran off. I'm still not sure if he was horrified because he bowled over a pregnant lady or if he was horrified that I WAS a pregnant lady.
In closing, at least I never have to listen to new acquaintances gush about how much I look like their cousin. Unless their cousin plays basketball for the Knicks and has unusually long hair.
I'm not going to lie. I am not usually a victim of mistaken identity. I am 6 foot 3 inches tall. And I am a chic. Really, you can't miss me. And if, by chance, you mistake someone for me, chances are you're talking to a college football player or a young oak tree.
If you don't immediately recognize me by my height, chances are you will recognize my children. I have 2 very tall, very noisy toddler twin boys. Apparently in rural Michigan, twins are like celebrities. I get stopped on the streets and people force me to talk to them in grocery store lines. Usually the conversation falls apart around the time they choose to sputter, "You sure have your hands full!" I've stopped pretending that's even remotely funny. I hear someone say that to me at least once a day. Really, it wasn't funny the first time I heard it. It certainly isn't funny after nearly two years of daily repetition.
Now, if my height and my children weren't the dead giveaway, you're probably blind. I'm sorry. That must be difficult. There isn't a lot of Braille resources around here. No fear! You will certainly know it's me when you hear me speak. I speak loudly and often. My voice has a very unique quality to it. Some people have musical, beautiful voices. I sound like Bea Arthur with a head cold. Trust me. Once you've heard me once, you'll never forget me, much to your own horror.
Once I was told I looked like Julia Stiles. But, I took that with a grain of salt because I was a 25 year old sitting in on my husband's high school band class and the person giving me the compliment was a rather "enthusiastic" bari sax player. He appeared to have a rather large crush on my saxophone. (It is a pretty hot horn, but it was still weird.) It was still flattering, until I remembered "That One Time in Vegas".
I was 7 months pregnant with twins, looking like a hot mess, and waddling through the Bellagio with my family when a man ran in to me from behind and said, ""Scuse me, Sir." I stood there with a confused look on my face, he glanced at me, made a horrified expression, muttered he was sorry, and ran off. I'm still not sure if he was horrified because he bowled over a pregnant lady or if he was horrified that I WAS a pregnant lady.
In closing, at least I never have to listen to new acquaintances gush about how much I look like their cousin. Unless their cousin plays basketball for the Knicks and has unusually long hair.