Mortified!

Want to talk about embarrassing?
How’s this. So I just went to see a fabulous new restaurant as part of my job. Because that’s what I do. Every week I go to see three generally fabulous places and then I write about them.

So I went to this new restaurant which took over from a restaurant that I had profiled six months ago. I went with a slightly apprehensive mood because guess what? I really liked the old restaurant. I didn’t want a new restaurant in its place; I wanted the old restaurant to have done really well. But I emailed the owner of the new place in a distant, professional tone and invited myself over for a visit.

And I went. With my folder in hand I strutted through the door, looked at a young man who greeted me and asked whether he was “Rob”…because I was there to meet Rob and I didn’t know what Rob looked like, so he might be Rob.

Only, of course he wasn't Rob. Oh and I knew what Rob looked like because he was the guy I met the last time I visited. THE SAME GUY! The guy whose name I should have remembered.

Blast my memory! Blast it! Of course I only realised all of this when I saw him, because I'm rubbish with names, but I'm great with faces. Then my brain did a backflip over all of the professional emails I had sent him over the past week and landed on its face.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is embarrassing.

P.S.
Rob if you’re reading this, I’m very, very sorry. I was born retarded.