Maturity, Defined

Certain people in my life have wound up on a list of people I would rather not see for one reason or another, the main reason being "too awkward." In my mind, they no longer exist. I don't wish them harm. They simply disappear. Vapor. Dust. Nothing.

Because of this very real scenario I've made up completely, I am overly surprised when I see one of these people walking around on this planet, still very much in existence.

So as I sat in the back of Starbucks, facing the front doors, I stiffened, gritted, and stage whispered to T, L's here. Then I turned my face to the window. Then I turned my face to the counter. Then I turned my face back to the window, realizing these were my only two options.

T goes, L? Like, L L?

I answer, Yes, L.

She was like, Do you want to sit here? Her back was facing the doors, but by this time, L was at the counter and had we stood up, she would surely look over.

I answered, Nope.

Then T offered these two suggestions of disguise:

1. Put your sunglasses on.

2. Do you want my hair tie to put your hair up?

I showed her my wrist which bore my own hair tie and answered, she's known me long enough to know what I look like in sunglasses and a pony tail.

I relied on my own disguise of "Invisibility." That means I willed myself to be invisible, much in the same way children do when they think no one else can see them if they close their eyes. Instead of closing my eyes, however, (I'm not a child!), I tossed back the miniscule drop of what was left in my coffee cup timed perfectly to coincide when L walked by us. Apparently, she hasn't known me long enough to know what I look like while drinking out of a paper cup.

Either my amazing disguise worked or she chose to do much of the same thing I was doing--pretend it wasn't happening.

T, doing her best not to call attention to us, waited until she walked towards the doors to ask what she looked like now. I was like, much of the same. T got up and walked towards the front of the shop to see her and came back with, She drives a Mercedes?

I was like, No, and that means that totally was not her at all.

So she went back for a second look and came back with, No, it was her and she's driving a Volvo.

And then, flying by the window came L in her Volvo, looking exactly the same as I remember her when we used to hang out, her Starbucks in her cupholder, eyes on the road, making sure she didn't catch one more glimpse of me. Hmph, now that's mature.