Monday, January 28, 2008
Gotta remember to do that more often. I've had a chronic case of foot-in-mouth for God-only-knows-how-long. When I most need to keep my feet on the ground, one inevitably and impulsively swings right up and into my mouth, jarring the few brain cells that still work. I actually slept on my latest plan for TWO whole nights. I drafted and re-drafted until I thought I had it right. An elder advised against going through with it, but did I listen -- OF COURSE NOT!! I thought I was doing a good thing. Anyway, now I have to ask myself if I will ever learn. The answer is a firm it's possible. However, history suggests otherwise. My most memorable episode of F.I.M. was at a groovin' 1969 Halloween party in Glover Park (at the time an artsy neighborhood in DC). I was nervous about fitting in with a group of architects and engineers who were, for the most part, older and more sophisticated than 20 year old me. I was also working hard at overcoming lifelong, nearly debilitating shyness. Having spent the previous two years in an Iowa college, I went as the farmer's daughter -- not the buxom beauty -- the hayseed one with a missing tooth and braids. My gallant host soon cleaned the black from my tooth, saying I was too pretty to do that -- a hint I might do OK with this bunch. Before I'd finished a beer, I was introduced to a late arrival. Trying my best to be a good partier I asked him a question. He looked stunned and then those who'd heard started laughing and cheering. I had no clue about what I'd done and was mortified! He soon slipped out the door. To my chagrin and relief, I found out that he was not well-liked and I'd made a premium put-down. To this day, I don't know what I said, but it was the beginning of an unfortunate trend for me and my feet.