When the Hole is Not Big Enough to Swallow You

Three examples of having your foot so far down your throat it becomes a third leg behind you and how to recover.

Am I daft? My lovely wife says I’m daft. I just think sometimes things take a little longer with me. You know? I hope you know.

It’s not malicious. I can acquire new physical skills quickly, I have an acumen for muscle control/coordination but… the mouth… well, that particular muscle is outside the parameters of my realm of competence.

I possess the unique ability to stuff my foot in my mouth. Quite often.

Damn! It is such a skill. It is unique, unparalleled in our family.

It’s not that I am poorly read, emotionally inept (don’t ask the wife), or even callous — I can be soft and fuzzy, (babies or dog stories).

And yet, the words creep out.

I’m not insensitive… okay, maybe a little, depending on who you ask, or if it has anything to do with my permanent love handles which I maintain are actually a form of muscle similar to a pectorals or biceps just... in repose.

But the family has suffered my vocal faux pas on so many occasions. It is like introducing the dog that has a habit of biting visitors and not just estate agents. (Whom it is okay to bite.)

Sometimes the depth of the ‘Oh no — face palm’ moment is so deep it is like the sonar ping on the submarine from the movie ‘20,000 Leagues Under the Sea,’ (based on the Jules Verne classic). You know, the one when the sonar goes, PIIIINNNNNGGGG…. PIIIINNNNGGGG.

That empty, all-consuming echo, I can do that with utterances. I have that ability to stop breath, stop heartbeats, fall below buildings in a single dive.

PIIIINNNNGGGG!

The first was innocent enough. I mean, they all are in my opinion, perhaps not in the listener’s mind, (do I have to say victim — I digress.) I have a weakness, it seems, I am told… though I deny it, for names ending in the long E sound. Sally, Sophie, Tammy, Tracy, Terry, Katie, Sadie… it was the last two.

Imagine.

The eldest son brought home his first serious (he was 15!) girlfriend. Charming girl, very pretty, very funny, really sweet. I tried to be the cool Dad and not embarrass him with his young love, Sadie.

About six months later he brought home his second girlfriend. She was charming, very pretty, very funny, really sweet. Katie. I tried to be the cool Dad.

The girls were of course fierce rivals in the school… I guess… what do I know? I’m the cool Dad.

Then the mouth slips and I go through a blinding ten minutes of charm referring to the Katie as the Sadie. I mean…. they both end in ie! What am I supposed to do?

Twenty-two years later and each new girl is now introduced to me vvvveeeerrrryyyy slowly so I get the name right. It was only a few minutes. Apparently the pain lives on. Get over it! But, hey, I’m not insensitive.

At one time, I owned restaurants in a small wealthy Buckinghamshire community. Very high-end, very busy. Sometimes on a Saturday night I make… mistakes, an oversight, a slip. I never saw it, but the other 120 other diners did.

I mean, how was I to know (or remember — it was a Saturday, the place is heaving,) the two tables I sat beside each other had swapped partners in a bitter public spectacle. Ooops, small piiinnnggg.

The pièce de résistance though was earlier in my mouth-marble career. Some things you get over, you move forward, this one… nope. It was June 1986, Vancouver.

Tracy (long E) was a super lady. She was the head admin at the academy I attended. She was the pseudo mom/crying shoulder/ heart throb/ sister of every student. Plus she was a funky young mom with a stinging wit. She made awesome muffins and cakes for all the staff and performers. Our children went to the same nursery, (yes, I was an early starter). Tracy and I were mates.

How could I ruin that? PIIIINNNNGGGG!

I romped into the lobby with my usual morning bounce and she stood up behind the desk. She wore a tight black knit dress.

“Wow, fantastic, Tracy,” I spewed, “Nash will be so happy to have a playmate. When are you due?”

PIIIINNNNGGGG.

Her eyes went bottomless, 20,0000 leagues beneath contempt.

She wasn’t pregnant. Maybe lingering baby bump? Muffins?

It didn’t matter, I crushed her. I couldn’t retract the words, the enthusiasm, I had for her swelling tummy. Well-intended idiocy comes naturally to me, maybe it is genetic?

I slithered away. I was mortified I had hurt such a special soul.

I told my partner. She was appalled.

I was unable to catch Tracy to apologize for almost a week. When I did, she was a true sport. She tried to distance the stupidity of my outburst, my insensitive comment. Stupidity 101. I am sure she has no recollection, but thirty-three years on, I do. Twenty thousand leagues of hurt in those eyes.

These days my family keep my mouth in check, lest I try to sink another submarine of stupidity. The youngest son is tempting fate — three girlfriends lined up; Ayumi, Akemi, and Ayaka. Caution. He always prompts me at the beginning of skype calls, thankfully his lovely partner is now, Raffala. Safety at last.

I’ve learned to breathe before I speak. The act of inspiration gives time for consideration. (That took 60 years, how long to get rid of love handles?)

Have you ever done that? Perhaps sharing it here will be cathartic, somehow expunge the lapse of incredulity from your bones? Feel free to share. I’m sure neither Katie or Sadie will mind.

Thanks for reading

Ten Second Takeaway:

When a thoughtless or unkind word is spoken, best tune out. — Ruth Bader Ginsburg.

To be unkind because you are thoughtless is the worst kind of blindness. — Cameron Dokey