​It happened again. I went to our little store yesterday to pick up a couple of items and was recognized by a woman eager to make conversation. Clearly, she knew me, knew where I worked, asked about my co-workers, mentioned my husband by name – everything indicating she was very familiar with me. So why was I in such a panic? Because she was only vaguely familiar to me and I didn’t know why.

As she chatted with me, and I just as politely tried to move along, she continued to talk over and around shelves. It made me so uncomfortable because I couldn’t escape this embarrassing situation. I have no idea how I managed to exit the store without her realizing I never did place her. You’d think that I'd be used to these incidents by now. Nope. And I assure you, it never gets easier.

I wish I was able to recall faces. Unfortunately, I’m also bad at names, forgetting them a fraction of a second after hearing them. My husband used to say I couldn't be bothered to make an effort, but the evidence doesn’t support that theory. This clueless trait runs in the family and my dad and I both have stories. We can laugh about them - eventually.

Like this one. I once failed to recognize a woman I'd spent a good hour with, chatting pleasantly while watching our kids play soccer. We hit it off. Afterwards, while waiting in our car with the kids while my husband ran into a convenience store for something, I was alarmed and confused by some random woman who'd pulled up next to us and spotted me in the passenger seat. She tipped down to see into the car better, waving enthusiastically while I stared in surprise and confusion. Out of ideas, I whispered to the kids in the back. “Anyone know who this is?” Turns out they did - and I should have. "You were talking to her during our practice." If I could have melted out of sight, I would have. Sometimes the blush goes through every layer of epidermis.

This story is one of my favorites. I can actually laugh at myself now. Enough time has passed. Ok, here goes. One weekend, my son’s band was playing at the local tavern and hubs and I went to listen. Now, my husband worked a very visible job for years so I’m quite used to people greeting him when we’re out together, but that night when it happened, he was away from our table chatting with another couple. I waited until it seemed rude to hang back then dragged my introverted feet over to the trio and, with a smile, extended my hand to a seriously stunned woman and introduced myself. This is when my horrified husband jumped in and muttered testily, “Tare, they’re our neighbors. They’ve been to our house.” OMG. Yeah. And you want to know something? I wouldn't recognize them today. Or even the day after that awful faux pas. This is why I tend to avoid social situations.

I've since learned this embarrassing family trait is actually a recognized condition called Face Blindness. It's an equal-opportunity affliction that flusters the famous and highly intelligent as well as average guys and gals. It's nice to finally have an explanation for something I've agonized over for so long. A huge relief, actually.

I heard in an NPR interview on the subject one particular sufferer admit he failed to recognize his own reflection in a window once. Now, I may be bad, admittedly, but my case isn't quite that severe. Something I learned decades ago though, context matters. My ability to recall a person depends on familiarity. I have to see someone over and over again on a regular basis before I'm able to imprint them. But, if I run into them elsewhere, they may seem vaguely familiar, but chances are, I won't know why and it's going to drive me crazy unless someone kindly helps a stumped girl out and I can experience one of those rare and wonderful 'ah-ha' moments. Bliss.





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  This post was originally published August 2012 / modified and updated today.   

Snow isn't the only thing falling in this frosty misadventure of a short. Read it today.

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