First the worst: Foot in mouth

My first blog post. I’ve been feeling pressured to think of a really good topic to write about to capture my audience. I’m going to start light.

First of all, if you’ve got this far, please do have a little look at my ‘About’ section so you know what to expect from this blog, now and in the future.

Right now I’m sat in my Ikea Strandmon chair (Google it, it’s a nice chair for reading in) with some of my husband’s home brew (poncey craft beer he paid loads of money to make in a poncey micro-brewery – why is it a micro-brewery? Does it just mean they don’t have enough floor space to call it a brewery? Would anyone like to buy my micro-detached 7 bedroom house [2 bed flat]?).

I’m winding down after a day of spreadsheeting-the-shit out of life (I work in data, HR data specifically). I’ve got a stinking cold, most likely caught from my son’s nursery and I’m very much looking forward to being asleep.

Fast forward about 20 hours, now I’m on the bus home from work. Still with stinking cold. Rain is drizzling down the bus windows so I’m pretty sure I look like the ‘before’ image of a Lemsip advert. I’ve just had a call from my son’s nursery. I’m not going to use his actual name so let’s call him The Boy. Anyway the nursery called to say another child shut the wendy house door on The Boy’s head, causing a head injury. It’s their policy to call parents about all head knocks, he’s fine, no need to panic. But what the frig is their wendy house made of? Varnished mahogany perhaps with a Victorian polished brass door knocker? Is that why nurseries are so expensive?

Edit: the wendy house was indeed a wooden one. They’ve come very far since the old cloth one I had growing up ↓

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I thought my first blog post could start with some humour, just to warm us up. So let’s talk about foot in mouth syndrome. No, not the disease that eradicated over 10 million cows and sheep in 2001, I’m talking about the syndrome where you say something totally embarrassing and wish that you WERE one of the cows or sheep from 2001.

Like today. My colleagues and I were talking about those people who call you up and ask you about the car accident you’ve been in. I loudly proclaimed that “I’d rather do recruitment than that job and that’s saying something”. Fair comment except due to our office feng shui I sit with our in-house recruitment agency. Oops.

Or there was the time I made a jokey comment about an acquaintance’s child’s grumpy (albeit very cute grumpy) face. The comment didn’t receive much reaction. I’ve since learnt that that was the child’s normal face (it turns out kids can have resting bitch face too).

Once, when two Jehovah’s Witnesses came to our home one December, we spoke to them for a while and then said goodbye. I shut our door, reconsidered, reopened it and shouted MERRY CHRISTMAS!!! at them as they left. Like, really loudly. I honestly didn’t know at that point that JWs did not celebrate Christmas. They probably didn’t really mind but the fact that I opened the door again and shouted it at 100 decibels still makes me cringe.

Another time, I went to the wedding reception of a friend of my husband’s. It was in a small village near his hometown. The taxi driver had already done a few wedding drop offs that day in the same village so he knew where he was going.
On arrival the bride was dancing with her dad. My husband hadn’t seen the bride for a few years at this point, so he didn’t really recognise her or her dad. We muscled into the crowd to watch. “It’s the father of the bride dance!” I proclaimed loudly. The crowd around us looked at me. We looked back. “Husband, where are all your friends?” I said. Husband did not recognise anyone.
We were at the wrong wedding. And she was dancing with her husband!

“If he’d opened it properly before forwarding he would have seen my nipple very clearly in shot.”

One of my favourite embarrassing stories was probably the time I sent my husband a picture of our son in a post breast-feeding coma. Cute photo, eyes closed in milky bliss. Husband only looked at the thumbnail and forwarded the picture to his dad. If he’d opened it properly before forwarding he would have seen my nipple very clearly in shot. Father in law has kindly never acknowledged this photo.
Ok so that last one is less foot-in-mouth, more of a lesson in technology. I urge you all to remember that thumbnails do not show the full picture!

My social anxiety causes me to brood over conversations I’ve had, wondering whether I’ve offended anyone, what I’ve said that I shouldn’t have… it’s always worse after drinking (the Beer Fear). The only remedy is to hear other people’s embarrassing stories. So if you’ve got any corkers that make even your internal organs blush please do comment.

Thanks for reading!

-GK-

NB – the featured image on this post is the offending nipple photo. Said nipple is cleverly hidden behind the title. I hope!?!

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