Chapter 24

It has just occurred to me that I haven’t yet introduced myself.

I apologize. One should always introduce oneself quickly!

I once met a woman at an industry function who said, “Hello, I’m Jan.” Her name may or may not have been Jan, I can’t recall. Don’t concern yourself, it was an unexceptional name.

I said, “Hello, Jan.” I said it nicely, although I admit I may not have smiled. I was in the process of pulling out my chair to sit down next to her while carrying a glass of white wine, a jacket, my handbag, and a tall metal table number for my dinner order. My number was seven, which is not my favorite number, but it’s likely yours. Most people pick seven if asked their favorite number. My favorite number is zero.

I had ordered the pesto linguine. It was not good.

Anyhow, this woman chuckled crossly and snapped, “Are you going to tell me your name?”

I was going to tell her my name! I know how introductions work! I just needed a second to compose myself and sit down.

Well.

It was a long time ago. I really should have forgotten such a trivial incident by now. It’s just that I’m overly sensitive about any perceived criticism of my social skills. They don’t come easily to some of us, and hurtful jokes are often made about my profession, people like me, coming across as “strange,” “weird,” or even “scary.”

I will certainly introduce myself. Quick smart!

My name is Cherry.

Not Cheryl, if that’s what you think you heard. Cherry. The night before I was born, my mother had a vivid dream about a pale pink cherry blossom tree silhouetted against a bright blue sky. My mother took her dreams as seriously as her complexion. Hence, Cherry.

I’m aware Cherry and Cheryl are similar names. Both have six letters and the first four of those letters are identical. However, the name that appears on my birth certificate is Cherry. Not Cheryl. No matter how much you want it to be. No matter how much I want it to be.

I once worked with a man who continually called me Cheryl even after I politely corrected him on several occasions. (Twenty-seven occasions.)

One day we had a “team-building” lunch at a Chinese restaurant called Wok n’ Roll. He said, with his mouth full, “Pass the spring rolls, will ya, Cheryl?”

It was the twenty-eighth occasion he’d called me Cheryl, in spite of repeated polite corrections, and it was at a difficult time in my life. I lost my mind and my temper and threw a spring roll at him.

It landed with a terrific splash in his glass of soft drink and he leaped back with the most appalled expression on his face. I apologized, but he did not forgive me or ever bother to get my name right.

My name is Cherry.

As previously stated. But it bears repeating. It sure does bear repeating.

The astoundingly popular British singer Ed Sheeran has a wife named Cherry. I wonder if her mother dreamed of a cherry blossom tree, or if perhaps her parents liked the Neil Diamond song “Cherry, Cherry.” I love that song. It came out in 1966, the same year Australia switched to decimal currency. Mum didn’t want to switch. There was a jingle to prepare us: In come the dollars and in come the cents, to replace the pounds and the shillings and the pence! I found the jingle catchy. My mother would press her hands over her ears. I’d sing louder.

She liked Neil Diamond, though. We danced to “Cherry, Cherry” in the kitchen while we peeled potatoes and shelled peas. I danced badly but enthusiastically. Mum danced beautifully. This didn’t happen every night, of course. Some nights we didn’t speak, let alone dance. We were philosophically opposed on multiple issues. We also could not have had potatoes and peas every night for our tea. Although it feels like we did.

I expect my mother’s fear of decimal currency was related to her dislike of math, which is a common fear often dating back to a cruel teacher. In fact, my mother was more mathematically inclined than she realized. She used probability every day of her life and called it intuition.

I was pleased to learn Ed Sheeran’s wife and I share a name because I’m an Ed Sheeran fan. To be clear, I don’t buy his CDs or go to his concerts. I just turn up the volume when his songs come on the radio, which I presume doesn’t produce any income for him. Sorry, Ed Sheeran.

Well.

Sometimes, when I’m nervous, I become overly, even inappropriately, chatty. I veer off topic. I say whatever comes to my mind, I become too literal, I try too hard to be accurate when no one cares as much as me about accuracy, and I can see by people’s faces that I am being “odd,” and I am forced to pinch the skin on my wrist to make myself stop talking.

My name is Cherry.

That’s all I needed to say.