Foot And Mouth Disease.

Does my social ineptitude know no limits?

Let me get this straight - I am generally a nice person. I sometimes give money to beggars. I often talk about packing up The Daughter's old clothes and toys and taking them to a children's home. I just don't know where it is. And I can't concentrate for long enough to listen to directions (and I CANNOT cope with that Garmin lady telling me what to do all the frigging time. And I don't know the difference between left and right.)

I generally don't hold a grudge. I mean, my 7 to 3 job is teaching, after all.

I like people. And some of them like me back.

But if I look back at past social interactions, I could possibly be considered a social retard.

Look, my finest moment was certainly not the time I called Larry's dad a cocksucker. To his face. Something a little like, "Are you always such a cocksucker?". Fortunately he was in awe of my dashing good looks and tangible charm that he didn't take offence.

Or the time a psychologist told a group of my work colleagues about the direct correlation between a lack of intelligence and a high sex drive. I exclaimed, "Cheese and rice! I must be really effing stupid then. Like properly doff."

The list is endless: I once asked a guy with very big nipples if he was breastfeeding because smoking would be bad for his baby.

I once declared my absolute adoration for head to a stranger shopper person. She was talking about individual units of broccoli.

I once asked a cancer patient if he was going for the Michael Stipe look.

And I forget to watch my mouth around The Daughter. She declared to her ballet teacher the other day that "My mom says you're 100". (In my defence, if she was a cat she'd be eeking out the very last minutes of her ninth life.)

I've got foot and mouth disease. Badly.

And now the rellies are rolling in thick and fast for the Christmas celebrations. Many of whom I'm not all that fond (but I promise, I'm a nice person). So please Lord. Help me keep my mouth in check. Just this once.




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