waaaaaaaaaaaay back in january (when we were all younger, naïver, healthier, and i was less theoretically grounded)- two days into the new year, on what was, happenstantially, the third anniversary of my moving here- i sallied about town and got my dissertation bound, in advance of handing in my dissertation two days later.
(for proof of how reading proust has corrupted my sentence constructions, see above)
and that night, after celebratory drinks with the irish one, i called garebear and debo up on skype.
as you may or may not know, i've a TREMENDOUS sense of occasion as regards general everyday life accomplishments, much less actual accomplishments.
a TREMENDOUS sense of occasion which is repeatedly undermined/derailed by the total lack of sense of occasion of my family.
so there were debo and garebear on the screen and, lo, there was i with freshly washed hair and coy grin and my TREMENDOUS sense of occasion ready to bask with them in the glow of my accomplishment and the beautiful bound volume for whose production i'd just forked over a rather galling £100.
upon establishing that our connection was clear enough that they could behold in full, unpixillated glory what i was about to show them, i reached into the plastic wrapping and, like santa pulling treasures from his bag, revealed my ginormo bound book: my dissertation.
maybe the sexiest thing i've ever done.
well, until i do it again and it's a dissertation that will actually pass.
but, definitely, at that time, the sexiest (so hard not to write sexist) thing i had ever done.
i held it aloft before them, so distracted by its glamour that it was awhile before i actually looked at them looking at it and realized that they were not looking at it but that they were looking at me and my mother was picking her teeth.
you guys, huge big deal, i said.
we know, we're so proud, garebear informed me, sticking his own fingers deep into his molars.
have you no sense of occasion?! i inquired, indignant.
well, of course, bearoline. we just had occasion to eat some popcorn and now we're sensing corn kernels in our teeth, garebear exclaimed gleefully, as debo nodded sagely beside him, her left pointer finger thrusting for a stray kernel lodged between a canine and incisor.
this was not the memory i wanted, i told them. sitting here on a couch in england, holding my dissertation up to a computer screen before people picking their teeth. that, i swore, was not a memory i would treasure.
it would seem that is something about which i was wrong.
tonight, i sent off the corrections to the examiner...