[img]396|left|Alex Campbell||no_popup[/img] I have a problem with self-edit; meaning, I have none. None. If a thought comes to my brain, it comes straight out of my mouth. When God was passing out verbal filters, he must have run out when it was my turn.
Example: The other day I went to get the permanent onlay put on my tooth. The procedure took a little longer than I had thought it would, and I didn’t realize I’d have to get yet another shot of novocaine. After keeping my mouth open for more than 15 minutes, I was getting tired of my dental dilemma. “Face me, open, bite down, grind your teeth, open…” Drill, air, adjust. It was all too much.
When the dental assistant removed my spit bib and told me I was all done, I said, “Thanks, and I hope I never see you again.” She was quite taken aback. She said, “Well, don’t say that, I’ll see you when you come in for your cleanings!” I can backpedal so fast I should be in the circus. “What I meant to say was, ‘I hope I don’t have to have this procedure done again, I mean, maybe I will, I have all these old fillings…” DA smiled and patted me on the shoulder.
Now About That Dress
I belted out a doozy recently at the home of a Japanese couple. My job is to tutor them in English, but I sure hope they don’t learn the French faux pas I can deliver. During our second or third meeting, they brought out their wedding photos. The photos were stunning. The bride and groom wore two different outfits for their pictures, Western style and Japanese style. It was during the viewing of the traditional Japanese wear that I opened my mouth and inserted my foot.
Satoko explained that her kimono had come from her grandmother. It was exquisite—white silk with bright orange accents. Satoko looked positively flawless. Upon further inspection of the kimono, I noticed that there was some sort of tubing at the bottom of it that went all around the edge. To me, it looked like the tubing was filled with sand, and its purpose was to weigh down the kimono and keep the bride from blowing away. That’s what I thought, and that’s what I said. I’m not kidding.
As soon as I said it, I realized what I had done. No matter what size shovel was handed to me, I was not going to dig my way out of this one. “It’s so beautiful! What is this part made of? Cotton? It’s very beautiful. And it was your grandmother’s?” I was suddenly on compliment autopilot.
A Pooper Scooper?
Not only do I insult people’s prized possessions, I also have the unfortunate habit of telling strangers when I think they look like celebrities. Most of the time they’ve heard it before. It also helps if the particular celebrity they resemble is a supermodel. Twice, I’ve offended women because I couldn’t keep my big mouth shut.
The first was at an ice cream store. The scooper looked just like the folk singer Tracy Chapman, complete with mini dreadlocks. I always start out innocently enough. I say, “Has anyone ever told you that you look like a celebrity?” That’s a compliment, right? Well, when I told the ice cream scooper who she reminded me of, she did not feel complimented. “She’s ugly!” she said. Backpedal. I said feebly, “No she’s not, I have both of her CDs!”
The other time, I was at a bar. I was drinking a Coke, so I couldn’t blame alcohol on my mistake. The young woman sitting next to me looked exactly like Stockard Channing, and, you know the drill, I told her so. She replied sarcastically, “Thanks a lot! Isn’t she like 50 or something?”
“And now, ladies and gentlemen, for our next act, Alex the Affronter will pedal backwards on her unicyle!”
“No, I mean the younger Stockard Channing! From Grease! One of the Pink Ladies!” I’m surprised the woman didn’t throw her drink in my face.
In rare instances, my meandering mouth works in my favor, like when I see an outfit I like and find out where it was purchased. I’m successful with hairstyles, too. However, there’s got to be some way to edit my thoughts before I utter a sound. Count to ten? Walk the other way? Change the subject? Recently a man came to an art show I was participating in. He looked exactly like George W. Bush. I talked about the weather.
Ms. Campbell may be contacted at campbellalexandra@hotmail.com
