A new psychologist started with our district a few years ago, and you could say she was an introvert. It took her months to actually talk to me in normal conversation. Honestly, I thought that was pretty good progress, because there are still people she doesn’t talk to at all. But I was determined to be her friend, so I kept at it.
One day, I had brought some edamame from a restaurant. The portion was huge—way too much—and this person happened to be sitting near me in the kitchen. I decided to share.
“Hey, want some edamame?” I asked.
She politely declined.
“No, seriously,” I said. “I have too much. I’m not going to eat it all.”
She said no again, but I absolutely insisted. Eventually, she gave in and took a piece. My confidence soared. I was winner her over! And that’s when it happened.
To my absolute horror, the piece she took was one I had already eaten. Chewed it, spit it out, tossed it back into the pile—THAT piece. And for some reason, she tried again. And yep, again, another chewed-up piece.
I apologized profusely. She stopped eating. I kind of blacked out the rest of the conversation from sheer embarrassment. But we’ve managed to maintain a pretty good working relationship and friendship despite this unfortunate episode.
This was about five years ago. Recently, I finally got up the nerve to talk to her about this little trauma that’s haunted me for half a decade. Surely, she remembered this life-altering incident, right?
Nope. She had no memory of it. Nothing. I can only assume she was so traumatized herself that she developed amnesia or something. Must be nice.
Now, every time she’s out at a restaurant and orders edamame, she takes a picture of it and sends it to me with the message, “Thinking of you…”
Measure Once, Cut Twice 