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Tuesday, one of my co-workers was rubbing her stomach because it was in pain, and I said, "I would mash your intestine, but the cameras would see it." We often say things like "I'd give you a hug, but..." Certain people have actually been told that there will be no hugging at the Checkpoint, because for a long while there we tended to be way too comfortable with each other on the PM team, but the bit about 'mash your intestine' is an old in-joke in my cousin's family, which I then had to explain to her.
When my cousin, (who is the same age as I) was in high school, her parents hosted several foreign exchange students of the same age. R came from France the last year of high school, and then they attended the same college (for at least the first year, maybe longer). R was tall and vivacious, and she'd been born with her intestines too long, so every now and then she'd be in pain because things wouldn't move along, correctly. She would ask me or my cousin, "Would you mash my intestine?" (and she could say that so cutely.)
I told my co-worker this on Tuesday. Wednesday it was my turn to watch the line at the checkpoint. A woman in the line kept looking at me, and finally said, "Excuse me, is your name (W)?"
I said, "That's my middle name, and I used to be called that, before I went to college." I was searching her face, wondering where I could know her from.
"It's me! R!"
She lives in Belgium, now, and during a series of short conversations which we managed to have before her plane left, she said I was always welcome to come visit. "I have a couch - everyone sleeps on my couch! Really! I love having guests!"
Anyway... I went around being freaked out the rest of the day. And then![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
cygny invited us to visit, and I began to wonder if there isn't some fate in store for us in Belgium. We had considered going to visit there - during last summer I was pricing tickets - but then things didn't pan out that way. But we keep getting pushes in that direction. Hm.
When my cousin, (who is the same age as I) was in high school, her parents hosted several foreign exchange students of the same age. R came from France the last year of high school, and then they attended the same college (for at least the first year, maybe longer). R was tall and vivacious, and she'd been born with her intestines too long, so every now and then she'd be in pain because things wouldn't move along, correctly. She would ask me or my cousin, "Would you mash my intestine?" (and she could say that so cutely.)
I told my co-worker this on Tuesday. Wednesday it was my turn to watch the line at the checkpoint. A woman in the line kept looking at me, and finally said, "Excuse me, is your name (W)?"
I said, "That's my middle name, and I used to be called that, before I went to college." I was searching her face, wondering where I could know her from.
"It's me! R!"
She lives in Belgium, now, and during a series of short conversations which we managed to have before her plane left, she said I was always welcome to come visit. "I have a couch - everyone sleeps on my couch! Really! I love having guests!"
Anyway... I went around being freaked out the rest of the day. And then
cygny invited us to visit, and I began to wonder if there isn't some fate in store for us in Belgium. We had considered going to visit there - during last summer I was pricing tickets - but then things didn't pan out that way. But we keep getting pushes in that direction. Hm.