Sunday, May 22


Today I went to a concert in town, given by a friend of mine. We hadn’t seen each other in twenty years, and since he was not divorced but happily married, I sort of wondered why all of a sudden he invited me. While trying to find my seat in the dark a big woman shouted: “Margot, it’s me, Carmen, remember, do you remember me?” Indeed I remembered this woman from high school. We weren’t friends, but perhaps she vaguely admired me. She had gained about fifty pounds, but smiled as if it didn’t seem to bother her. She seemed strong and relaxed and started asking me about my life: “So where do you live now, in which neighborhood?” I gave the correct answer, it was a rich neighborhood. Questions about my current job followed. Luckily she didn’t ask me if I had children, and I didn’t ask this question back. Before the concert started I checked if my phone was switched off. And suddenly I realised the somewhat awkward truth: I wasn’t embarrassed about not having children, I wasn’t embarrassed about not having a relationship or not owning a little red corvette. I was embarrassed about my phone.