Heather, Heather?

A few weeks ago I finished a painting for my wee little, but large child who I nanny for. I showered (whoa), put on my new, but old thrift coat made by Sisley (what a steal, ma’am), and wore some make-up well. I dropped off the painting and headed over to Cafe Fiore in Queen Anne, which is a place I sometimes become dazzled by the fashion and wealth as it swaggers, sways, and seduces any passerby.

I typically go there for my fix with said large, but adorable child. And, I’m typically sporting my oversized, but kinda cute glasses with average attire.

However, on this decorated and sophisticated day the barista took a gander and said, “Do you have a sister?”

“Why yes I do.”

“Does she come in here?”

“Uhhh, sure.”

“Because you look so much like this girl who comes in with the kid she nannies for.”

I think to myself, maybe Morgan has come in with Owen once or twice, since she occasionally nannies for him as well.

I ask, “Does she have blonde hair?”

“No, it’s dark.”

“Oh. Well, I have no idea who you’re talking about then.”

Then the other barista chimes in,

“I know exactly who you’re talking about…she does look exactly like her!”

Oh dear, did you have to put an exclamation point after that statement? I thought to myself. I get this squeaky and nasal verbiage of “You look like this person I know…yada yada” often.

No conclusions were made as we shrugged our shoulders quizzically. Meanwhile, I became very curious about who stole my identity again.

I went through my Queen Anne nanny archives and found no one who resembled me, let alone looking exactly like me.

After 30 minutes, it dawned on me. They were refering to moi. !  (my detective work, I thought, deserved a rebellious, exclamatory demarcation right there)

I chuckled to myself and couldn’t wait to begin the storytelling of this tale. Did you hear this one? They thought the raggedy ole nanny was someone else, but really it was MEEEEE….the same person…She and I are one! LOL, hearty giggles, and…

My sister insisted I scheme a way to play a game with the baristas the next time I was in there. Oh, oh yeah. Oh.

“So, I hear my sister was in here a few days ago, that badass.”

“Oh yeah, she was and she is quite the bad…ass?”

“I know, she is.”

Awkward silence.

“Well, it just so happens, it’s MEEEEEE!”

“Come again?”

“We’re the same person!”

“O M Gahhhh, you’re riiiight! Oh silly me!!!”

“You are silly!”

“All baristas are ridiculous!!!”

“Yep! But I’m still the Badasssssss! No matter what I look like!”

“It’s truth!!! A badass through in through!”

Coffee is splashing everywhere while we’re laughing, in slow motion. Coffee beans are flying every which way as we belly over, in slow motion. And, all the affluent, laissez-faire people become incredibly generous, paying off my debt and buying Jay and I a nice bungalow, nestled in the mountains, giving us unlimited funds to pursue our dreams in saving the world. Tis a joyous day, indeed!

Brick Wall.

Fantasy, halted.

Face smashed inward.

This is how it actually went:

“Hey, you know that girl you said looked like me?”

“Yeah, yeah I do.”

“It’s me.”


Actually, it went more similarly to this:

I walked in with some semblance of defiance, confidence, aha-ness. I smacked my gums, leaned in on the counter as I looked both ways, and said with a secretive, hushed tone,

“I know who that girl is…”

“What?” He blurted out, dismantling my Sherlock genius.

“That girl you mentioned to me, it’s me. The girl that you thought was someone else who looked like me, is ME!”

“No, I don’t think so. She’s definitely someone else.”

“Dude, it’s me. I nanny and wear nanny garb sometimes.”

I never use the word dude, it’s for special effects though–especially due to how boring this scenario played out.

“Nope I’m almost positive it’s someone else.”

“Huh. Well then, ok. Find out her name next time.” I slyly slipped him my card, which had nothing of importance on it because it was an old receipt. It was enhancing the part I was trying to play, ok?

Well, a few days passed and I venture into Cafe Fiore with Jay. The barista caught my attention and declared,

“Her name is Brooke!”


“The girl who looks exactly like you, her name is Brooke.”

Huff, puff, blow the house down.


“And she is nothing like you actually, completely different personalities.”


Thanks, Brooke, for ruining my story. You popped my not-even-that-great of story.

Hence this post.

I had to do something with it, right?


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