While cleaning out our linen closet, not only did I find plenty of drugs that expired during the Clinton administration, I also stumbled upon my brush belt from my days as a makeup artist. It got me all reminiscent of the time where I actually left the house, talked to adults, and wore makeup and fancy clothes. A time where I was "Nadja" instead of just "mommy."
Speaking of being Nadja...
You'd think that someone with a name so similar to the word "nauseous" would be extra sensitive to others with, ahem, different names. As I was looking through my old work stuff I thought of the time that I had to ring a transaction for a fellow makeup artist. She was making a purchase for her mother and needed me to look up her mother's credit account.
Her: "I'll just spell her name for you and you type it in."
Me: "Okilly dokilly."
(I give her a smirk and one-eyed glance.)
Me: GUFFAW!!! "Very funny! I typed the whole thing in!"
She raises her eyebrow at me. "What's so funny?"
Me: "Seriously, funny. I fell for it and typed the whole thing in. What's her name." (Why isn't she laughing? She's good at this game.)
Her: "That IS her name. My mother is Japanese. I'm Japanese. Her name is pronounced "Dung Sook."
Unfortunately the ground did not, in fact, swallow me up like I was praying. I apologized profusely, gave her her items, then rolled around on the floor in stupid agony.
Moral of this story? Be kind to all the Nauseas, Dong Suks, and Colon (sic) Powells because that REALLY is their name. You don't want to look like and ass like me now do you?