Sticking my foot in my mouth- at this point in my life, I am damn good at it. If there was an award for most awkward moments ever in the history of history, I would win hands down- or feet down- every single time. I am the grand poo bah of inappropriateness- the vice prez of verbal mishaps- the big wig of blunders. The funny thing is- is that I've always thought that I was a very socially and self aware person. But somehow- conversations and circumstances converge and there I am in the middle of it- making a complete ass of myself. It's just what I do.
Back during my party days at Clemson, my friends and I would frequent a bar appropriately named "Flashbacks". I guess after that much alcohol in a span of 4 years, flashbacks and herpes are about the only two things that ever really stay with you. So there was always this guy there, sitting behind the bar. Everyone called him Bean. I knew nothing about this man except for the fact that he was there- always sitting in the same spot- drinking, laughing and just being a really fun and jovial guy. One night the bar closed and a group of us were sloshing about around the entrance and out walks Bean. He was stumbling and fumbling and I- in my best Miss Teen South Carolina voice- yell "Look at your drunk ass, can't even walk". My friend took a gigantic gulp of air and grabs my arm- twists me around and proceeds to tell me that Bean was not drunk. He was severely injured in a car accident some years ago. He was crippled. I will pause here to allow you to take a moment.
Now that you've absorbed that horrific scenario, I will say that I'm not entirely sure he heard me. Still- the thought of that moment prompts the vomit reflex- even to this day. But oh, don't you worry, there is more.
Not too long ago, Kyle and I went to look at homes in a new subdivision out in Nolensville. We turned into this cookie cutter clutter of homes, each one built to only "slightly" look like the other and immediately noticed this random white farm house stuck smack in the middle. It was just weird and very out of place. Despite the eerie Amityville vibe the house gave, we were moderately interested in finding out more about the neighborhood and decided to visit the model home. It was a Sunday afternoon, so we had the model lady all to ourselves. We took extra time to look around being sure to ask the appropriate questions and she was very accommodating. She laughed at our jokes, she played with our kids and she knew her stuff. She was specifically knowledgeable of the land, how it was acquired and the process of it's development. I saw a window and decided to ask in my most real housewife of Atlanta voice- "What's with the creepy old white house stuck in the middle?" To which our new friend responds, "Oh, that's my house. My husband and I have lived there for 8 years " Oh, did I say creepy? I meant charming. Eh Ehhmmmm... we'll be going now....
This is of course not to mention other times like when I screamed a very graphic sexually suggestive sentence to my new boyfriend, Kyle, on the staircase of his mother's house. Only to realize that his entire family, whom I had only met hours before, heard every word. Or the many times I have been with Kyle as we have checked out in a Kroger, Best Buy, or Pier One and an item rings up LESS than the original listed price. For some reason I feel this is a good time to work on my Karma and I instinctively decide to tell the clerk. As a result, Kyle shoots a glare toward me that would make Marilyn Manson piss in his pants. What? Is honesty not always the best policy?
I've done the "When are you due" thing only to be told "I'm not pregnant"... several times. I've forgotten friends alibi's when I'm supposed to be covering for them. And I've made plenty of faux pas in regards to the "does my butt look fat in these pants?" question. Your butt looks fine but what about your cankles?
Trust me, if there is a situation where toes are required to tickle the tonsils, I've been there and done that and I have mastered them all. Try not to be jealous.