With only a few days to go before starting yet another New Years’ diet, I was stuffing my dial with bikkies and guacamole dip at a small gathering when a familiar face grinned at me through the flying crumbs.
Unable to recall his name I spluttered, “G’day mate, how’re you going?” hoping to pick up a clue to his identity during the response.
“Yeah, good mate,” he replied, then smiled again; the rotten sod.
The place was full of strangers, so I couldn’t tell if he was married to someone I knew, was an old work/school mate, or somebody I owed money to. In the end I resorted to my sure-fire, never fail, guaranteed method of finding out someone’s name; I asked him.
He beamed like he’d won a prize and said, “Yannay. I’m Yannay Poe!” I closed my gaping mouth then muttered, “Oh, sorry Yannay, I thought I knew you.”
Struth, even I wouldn’t forget a human being with a name like that!
Then the tiny part of my brain not saturated in alcohol kicked to life and I shouted, “Hang on! You’re Johnno! Johnno Potts! Aka: ‘Flower’ Potts’!”
He flinched at the sound of that name then hissed, “The Jonathan Potts* you once knew is (dramatic pause) dead! I am Yannay! Yannay Poe!”
I laughed, “Yeah? Well call me Greyj!” As he stalked off, the Lord Breaux (formerly known as Bray) polished off the last of the bikkies and dip.
Afterwards it occurred to me that there’s nothing wrong with wanting to change your name or re-invent yourself, I do it on a frequent basis, but usually return to my regular self (and habits) like a comfy pair of old sandshoes.
Still, guacamole dip does sound slightly more glamorous than mushy avocado yoghurt.
* Note: Name has been changed to protect the innocent… ie: me.