I love bringing new people together.  I enjoy the whole thing of sharing my friends and introducing people to others that they might not otherwise meet.

I don’t have a big family or extended family.  Most of my social life revolves around my husband and two nearly grown children and, of course, friends.  That’s it.  I’ve always felt a need to branch out and make mine and my family’s experiences rich with experiencing new and interesting people.  It’s a quest, a sign of an open loving person or perhaps, one deeply troubled.

My family may protest about my shenanigans, but I see right through it.  They never would have heard about “Cadillac Johnny” that mom used to schmooze free vegetables from during hard times, many moons ago.   They’ve seen me walk alone into a bar full of strangers in a foreign country and get a stranger to lead us on a tour through town when I went in to ask for directions.  We have some fun.

I guess however, sometimes I cross the line… A little… Maybe.  You see, when introducing folks, I love to share their wonderful achievements and backgrounds.  People are so cool!  I might point out, “This is Don.  He dressed the first Chimp to ever make a lunar landing.  He’s brilliant.”  Then I’ll wander to the bar to let them finish the conversation.  It usually includes some trash talk on me.

But I digress… You take someone like me and give them the ability to reproduce, and you’re asking for trouble.  (If you are my offspring)   I love my kids so much.  I’m proud.  Proud of their brilliance and proud also of their brilliantly stupid moments.  The trouble, I’ve been told, is that when I introduce my kids, they are frequently disappointed by their lack of mystery to this perfect stranger.   Oops.

“Hi, I’m Max.”

“I know.”

“I drive a Ford too..”

“Yeah, I know.”

(frustrated) “So you’re Don.. Cool about the chimp.”

(confused) “Much more complicated than you might think. So how’s the leg?  Did the hair ever grow back?”

(hating mom) “It’s all good. I just shaved the other one.”

“Cool”

“Cool”

“Where’s your mom?”

Well my children, mystery is overrated.  Delight in the fact that each day I awaken with fewer brain cells.  My memory is going and I will one day no longer be able to tell your stories.  Maybe then, I’ll just make stuff up.  Ha! That will be great fun!