Jane Says, Have You Seen My Wig Around?

Jane moves in for the kill. I take a step backwards to find someone right behind me at the hummus. Oh good! Backup! Misery loves company. I can deftly exit stage left as soon as the other person has the floor.

Not so fast. The other person has fled the table already. I swear I saw a glance, horrified recognition of what was to come, and then a hasty retreat and abandonment of a plate of cheese dip and Triscuits. I am alone in the cross hairs.

Jane introduces herself. I introduce myself and explain how I have come to be at this party in the first place (omitting the details about how heinous it is to have to share my children with a hateful, beer swilling lunatic on the holiday and my mother’s nomadic, grudge-inspired disappearance, and sticking just to the facts…I was on my own and invited to spend the holiday with Charlotte and Jack.) Enough said.

But Jane has decided that I look familiar and wants to know why.

I am not in any mood to lengthen the conversation so I refrain from saying anything that I normally would have said in response to a similar remark, depending upon the audience:

I have one of those faces. Everyone thinks they know me.

I know, I know. Jamie Lee Curtis. Before she let herself go gray and frowzy, I hope.

Sad but true. I’ve been told I look like Blossom. www.tvguide.com/tvshows/blossom/100062

I cop out and say that I just must bear a strong resemblance to my dear sister Charlotte. Yes, Charlotte. And speaking of Charlotte, where has my sister gotten to? Better go track her down! Buh-bye!

Not so fast.

Jane squints and says that she thinks it may be a professional connection.

I have seldom wished for vanishing powers with quite this intensity.

I am in Human Resources. If you know me from work and I don’t remember you, chances are you are not someone I’ve hired. Chances are more likely that I have fired you, meted out some kind of disciplinary action to you, or interviewed you and declined your application.

These are not the people I want to be standing next to a lit Sterno can with.

She thinks she may have contacted me about placing people in one of the companies I’ve worked for. A third party placement agency.

Oh goody. My favorite. These are the folks that get to deal with the worst side of me. The I’ll-have-you-for-breakfast-and-not-think-twice-about-leaving-your-face-in-shreds-if-you-don’t-give-me-the-contract-terms-I-want persona I trot out when the stakes are high and the candidates few, but I have a budget to meet and a pretty unimpressive threshold for pain and aggravation of this sort.

Maybe she is thinking she should step away from the Sterno?

No such luck.

She is on to regaling me with how her company, no she specifically, sets herself apart from the rest, yadda yadda yadda, blah blah blah blah blah with no end in sight.

Ever the diplomat, I politely suggest that she call me at work so we can talk more specifically about how she sets the world on fire, hand her my card, and accept hers.

I privately vow never to answer the phone again until I’ve heard that she’s been cremated.