Mist of greatness

"That's the next prime minister right there."  The man sitting next to me at dinner nodded.   "I mean it.  She's going to be prime minister."

The future prime minister must've heard him say this at least once, but she continued her story, laughing throughout at the ridiculousness of whatever it was, and suddenly it seemed like she was bathed in a mist of greatness.  It certainly felt like we were outside looking in,  due to Erik's talking about her as if she couldn't hear.  He also worshiped John, her father who sat opposite us.   He seemed ready to worship me at one point, when he was quizzing me about what I did for a living. 

Finally, I said, "I install software."

"Sure, they fly you over to Amsterdam just to install software."  Like I was being humble.  

"Well, I also try to get it running."

He jumped on that, "Ah, you get the software running." And he looked at his wife significantly, as if to say, "See!"  And I felt the mist of greatness descending on me, but then I said how most nights I went back to the hotel and watched Dog Whisperer, and it lifted. 

Erik did ask me before he'd finally gotten me to confess my profession, "Are you a writer?" 

I said, "I enjoy writing." And hoped to leave it mysterious like that.

"I ask, because you said, 'mournful silence.'  That's something a writer would say.  Mournful silence...."  Then, imitating a newscaster's voice: "It was a mournful silence."  

A mournful silence sure enough ensued, but in a little bit, I said something else…something like, "secret embarrassment".

"Most people would say 'guilty pleasure'.  That's instead of guilty pleasure.  But you said, secret embarrassment."

He lingered over it, as if he were trying to memorise it for future dinner parties.  I felt rather proud of my secret embarrassment, although it did occur to me that the only reason I hadn't said guilty pleasure was I hadn't thought of it, and that if I had, I'd have chosen it over secret embarrassment.