I don’t know what’s going on with the blog. As proud as I am of my daughter, I didn’t mean to post that last article 3 times. I can’t delete two of them to make it normal. So I’ve run away from my mess and cowered in the corner. There. I’ve said something about it. I’ve acknowledged it. I still can’t fix it.

In fact, this here is more of an experimental post than a real one. I don’t even know if anyone will read it. I better stop explaining and start getting interesting, hmmm?

How about I relate a couple cases of mistaken identity?

Today when I got to cardio tennis, a woman greeted me with, “Look who’s back!” I looked around to see who she was talking about. “How’s your hand?” she continued. Then the woman next to her said, “It’s not her!” She’d mistaken me for the woman who fell down on Tuesday. Now, I had worried that people were looking at me like a fat woman likely to fall down in tennis, but I certainly don’t look anything like the woman who fell. She is shorter than I am, has shorter hair, is noticeably fatter than I am, has different color eyes, wore completely different clothes. . .

The foot in mouth woman didn’t skip a beat. She proceeded to tell me about the woman falling on Tuesday and how she’d hurt her hand. I told her that I was there on Tuesday. . .

Later on, I took the children to their bi-weekly math games group. The woman who teaches the younger children in gym class pulled me aside to tell me that I’d joined halfway into the year, and she proceeded to explain the procedure for turning in the exercise sheets. I have been in the group all year, and have had conversations with this woman all year. She had mistaken me for another black woman, who had just joined. She is taller than I am, has completely different hair, darker eyes, dresses differently. . .

It hurts my feelings to think I have made no more impression on folks that they are confusing me with other people.

I let it go in the tennis class. Surely, even though she talked to me as though I hadn’t been there on Tuesday, the woman must have recognized my face enough to connect me with the injured woman, right?

And it was an innocent blunder in the math group, right? Surely she wasn’t suggesting that we all look alike?

My husband says that if people knew how much this hurt, they wouldn’t act that way. I’m thinking I must do something brash to differentiate myself. That’s probably not the right conclusion. What do you think? If you’re black, do you have this problem? If you’re not black, is that the only detail you notice about different people?