I never say the right thing at the right time. Ever.
A woman in a bedazzled Christmas sweatshirt - which I personally believe to be the mark of the beast - told me when her husband says jump, she asks how high.
I said, "When my husband says jump, I ask how high...would you like me to pull your testicles over your head?"
Maybe it was because I had suffered a small seizure brought on by the sequined teddy bear on her chest that was sporting a Santa hat and holding a tiny mouse who was holding a sign wrapped in fabric Christmas lights that read, "Jesus is the reason".
I'm pretty sure it must be some kind of unforgivable sin to blame the son of God for such as that.
I always say the wrong thing.
At a funeral a few years back I ran into a highly respected man I hadn't seen in some time. There was the handshake, the appropriate small talk in hushed tones and for a while, I was doing OK. I hadn't offended anyone or said anything wildly inappropriate.
"So where are you working?" he asked.
"I'm dancing for tips at a bar over by the airport," I answered as solemnly as if I were testifying before congress.
No idea why I said it.
I never know why. It's as if I have no filter between my brain and my mouth. As soon as I think it - there it is. Sometimes I'm lucky enough to be around someone with a sense of humor thus alleviating the onset of nausea and profuse sweating that often sets in as soon as I've spoken.
"I guess I believe it's my job and my joy to take care of my husband. I'm just old fashioned," said the smug woman who evidently has time to wait on a man AND make a mockery of Christmas and cartoon animals all at the same time.
"You're right," I said, "and I'm pretty old-fashioned myself.
I believe it's my husband's job to attempt to exert his manly authority over me - and it's my job and my joy to remind him what I will do to his manly authority if he doesn't stop attempting to exert it."
Then again sometimes I guess I do know the right thing to say.
Copyright © 2008 Sherri Bailey
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