Thursday, March 12, 2015

Navigating a Minefield of Words

              
            Do you ever feel like every time you open your mouth you say the wrong thing? I don’t know why it is, but some people have a knack for offending others, while other people have a gift for appeasing everybody. Call it charm, wit, or manipulation, we all know folks who can get away with the most outlandish remarks. If we said the same thing, it would be considered offensive or rude. I just don’t get it.

            Dad had the wit and charm of a genuine Irishman. He could disarm anyone as fast as Ali could deliver a one-two punch. I wish I could say I inherited his cheerful blarney, but such is not always the case.

I’ll give you a few examples. When I was about 10, the phone company ran a party line down our sideroad. Our number was 38J, either two shorts and a long or one long and two shorts, I don’t remember. Anyway, using the phone was a privilege, not the mandatory third hand it is today. In other words, I didn’t grow up with a telephone and to this day do not enjoy talking on one. About a month ago, I mentioned my indifference regarding the phone to an acquaintance and haven’t heard from her since.

Then there’s the bossy lady friend who got on my nerves. She often called me unpleasant names, but I overlooked her insults for a long time because she was old and funny. Then one day she stretched my tolerance to the max, and I returned a dose of her medicine. That was two years ago. No word from her since, either.

            Turning the clock way back to 1986, a relative thought I should get out more and invited me to an Al Anon meeting. I attended about three sessions. I kept quiet as I listened to the women gripe about their husbands. Week after week it was the same thing. Finally I couldn’t stand it any longer and told the gals if I were married to one of them, I’d drink too. You can just about imagine how that went over.

            My poor friend, Flash. He’s always taking something I say the wrong way, jumping in his truck, and running home. If he lived closer, he’d save a small fortune in gas bills, but I guess that’s just the way it goes.
           
            Well anyway, I keep hoping one of these days Dad’s droll genes will visit me, but until then I’ll keep a roll of duct tape handy. I might look silly with my mouth taped shut, but it might eliminate a lot of relationship problems. You know what I mean, don’t you?
           
              

               

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