You know how it is in St Andrews: more often than not, if you describe someone to someone else, they will know who that person is, even if they only know them by sight. That's how it usually goes in my conversations, but some weeks ago, as I described someone to a person I had just met, they had a, "Oh, that's you?!" moment...which had never happened to me before.
The person I was talking to was the new president of the Italian Society. I had spoken to him a few other times but, it being Sangria Night and all, we spoke for a longer time on this occasion. At one point I told him I was glad he was the new president of the Society, for I found his predecessor and entourage slightly creepy (creepy Italian leaders? Where have I heard of this before...?). When he asked me why I thought so, I said it was because every time the previous president saw me, he managed to forget I spoke Italian, and proceeded to loudly comment on my ass. Now, it is no news that I suffer from 'big butt syndrome' (I always have) but sincerely I like to think there's more to me that just an ass, and if it were really that memorable, these individuals would at least remember they've seen and commented on it before. But no, no. So my reaction to those comments usually was to start speaking in Italian to them, and watch their faces as realisation turned into mortification (oh, the joy!).
As I kept going on with my convoluted anecdote, doubtlessly fuelled and made more complicated by the cheap Sangria, he opens his eyes with surprise and says, "That's you?! You're a legend! You really traumatised those guys, you know?"
A sense of victory came upon me. Who knows what sort of reputation I've gained with this, but hopefully these men will think twice before screaming, "Look at that ass!", from one end of a table to the other.
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