Over the weekend I nearly broke my University ID card--this morning it was barely hanging together--and so I had to get a replacement before it snapped in two and jeopardized all the copy money I have stashed on there. This of course meant getting a new ID photo made. Which was fine by me because I loathe the broken photo which makes my cheeks look so damned pink and circly. I've always had remarkably (and almost embarrassingly) rosy cheeks, and I'm sad to report that this new i.d. photo is even worse than the broken one: it really looks like someone took a barbie pink digital airbrush and made a little dot on each side of my face. I'm a little horrified, but who ever looks at the picture anyway? I ask myself.
Answer: OFL. The first of many things out of her mouth this (rather warm) afternoon upon looking at my ID card: "You must be Irish to look like you have roses in your cheeks."
Ah yes, my favorite librarian. I'm sure my autonomic response made the real roses blaze even more. She pressed, "Am I right?" And so I relented that yes, my mom was a Fitzgerald. "Oh! like Honey Fitz and Rose Kennedy."
The new ID card unfortunately had to go through reprocessing at the library, so OFL and I had lots more time to chat, though I was relieved when part of that processing meant she had to make a phone call--i.e., chat with someone else. These ID numbers must have some logic, because the phone processor guessed the new part of mine, and she exclaimed that he was good with numbers. She then asked him if he had any lottery numbers for her and then went into a long explanation about why now would be a good time to win the lottery. Then in the middle of telling him how much the lottery was up to, or maybe when she was talking about a car repair she needed, she let the phone fall just a little, and stared at me in cold disbelief.
"He hung up."