My summer’s not exactly off to the best of starts, I’m afraid. My alleged friend Cheryl just informed me she’s not talking to me.
I say alleged, because the matter is currently before the courts. Food courts, that is. But more on that in a second.
The point is, Cheryl said she was so upset she may never speak to me again. That was two Saturdays ago. Since then she has been phoning me a minimum of twice a day during the week and five times a day on weekends just to make sure there is no misunderstanding. Cheryl doesn’t fool around. When she says she’s not talking to you, she says she means it and she doesn’t care how many times she has to call you to remind you she means it.
The reason I’m in her bad books? She claims I breezed right by her in the Yorkdale food court that fateful Saturday.
According to Cheryl’s affidavit before the Parliamentary Committee On Food Court Snubs, I looked her squarely in the eye several times during the process, too.
What’s more, it wasn’t the first occasion I’ve done this, she also claims in her sworn declaration. She insists when it comes to her, I’m a serial snubber.
Well, I plead not guilty on all counts and with an iron clad explanation. I didn’t intentionally disregard Cheryl in that crowded Yorkdale food court. The truth is, I don’t recall seeing her there.
I also didn’t deliberately ignore her in a similarly jam-packed Fairview Mall food court last week as she insists. Nor did I avoid her in the busy Eaton Centre food court as she maintains, either.
The reason I sometimes don’t say hi to Cheryl is simple: she’s not easy to recognize. She looks completely different just about every time you see her. Or don’t see her, to be accurate. She changes both her hair colour and hair style at least once a month each, minimum.
After all these years I have no idea what colour her hair is, natural or otherwise. I also don’t know whether it’s wavy or straight, long or short, or if she has bangs or no bangs.
Her wardrobe also seems to be in a constant state of flux. What she actually looks like is a complete mystery to me.
Now, I’ve got to hand it to Cheryl for the constant makeovers. Not everyone has the courage to repeatedly change their appearance. She’s brimming with self-confidence. But she really has to cut me some slack for being unaware that we’ve crossed paths. The fact is, even when she’s standing right next to me, I often have to do a double take.
The most ridiculous food court snub she accused me of was in Lawrence Square right after a power outage several summers back. Everybody was in a hurry to get out of there and she zoomed right by me, wearing – wait for it – dark sunglasses, a scarf and a hat, which she later confirmed while taking me to task.
Now I implore you, how the heck was I supposed to know that was her? No matter. There was an impassioned voicemail waiting for me when I got home. The message? Not only was she not going to talk to me for a whole year, but she predicted it would turn out to be the longest year of my life.
Well, as it turns out her prophecy was bang on. Without doubt, it was the longest year of my life. Not that it came as any surprise, mind you.
How could it not be? I couldn’t get her off the phone.
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