I gave a speech at a friend’s rehearsal dinner last weekend and someone came up to me after and said, “You are an extremely eloquent speaker.” And it got me thinking, you know what, yeah, person I don’t know at all but who is now my new best friend, when it comes to verbal communication, I am extremely eloquent!
….as long as I have an entire 16-size-font, double spaced script in front of me (rehearsed for a minimum of three weeks and approved by no less than five trusted individuals), have at least one glass of wine but no more than three in my system, I am not interrupted once, it’s neither too hot nor too cold in the room, there are zero weird noises, no one looks at me funny, I’m not hungry, the lighting is friendly, I am feeling good about my outfit, my acne is under control, I’m not PMSing, and I remembered to take my Prozac.
Otherwise when I talk it’s this:
Most of the time any of us text something to the sibling chain, it is with the assumption that Steph will either not read it or not understand it. She’s pretty much only included as a courtesy.
This is why.
In response to Worse Things, a friend just texted…
(Part of the Ebola Mom series)
And thus marks the first and last time I attempt to joke with Ebola Mom.
Me: (explaining a math problem)
Kid: “Ooooh, so I get it! It’s like the computer prompt, with tea.”
Me: “I’m sorry….what?”
Kid: “You know. Like…the computer prompt WITH TEA.”
Me: “Yeah I don’t understand what’s happening. Can you explain?”
Kid: “You don’t know about the computer prompt with tea? My teacher taught me! Like, you know…if 2 + 3= 5, then 3 + 2 = 5, because it’s the computer prompt…with tea.”
Me: “Oh my gosh– the COMMUTATIVE PROPERTY?!”
Kid: “Yeah that’s what I said. COMPUTER….PROMPT…..WITH…..TEA!”
Me: “You’re actually saying something completely different, but you have the concept so I don’t even care.”
Kid: “It sounds exactly the same to me!”
Me: “Alright well….agree to disagree?”
Me: “We will get back to this though. I’m not going to let you become an adult who mispronounces this.”
Kid: “What does ‘mispropounces’ mean?”
Me: “Forget it. Back to numbers. Language is obviously not working out for us today.”
Eric’s Super (just now, as I let myself into Eric’s building with my copied key): “You are make the relation with Eric, yes?”
Super: <Grins widely. Let’s me enter.>
I don’t know what I just said yes to.
It had been a while since I’d seen my therapist, so I had a lot to catch her up on. I told her about my upcoming family vacation in the Outer Banks, and that I was excited because I had invited Eric to come along. I also told her about my weekend in the North Fork babysitting my nephew, and how funny it was to see him next to slightly older babies who were crawling and walking, as he has yet to do anything but sit and occasionally roll over (one way only). I said it would be interesting to see if he was able to do anything new by the time we go to the Outer Banks mid-August. She smiled politely through all my babbling, and then chimed in….
Therapist: “Well that’ll be really nice to have him at the beach. He should be mobile by then.”
Me: (skeptical) “Eh…I doubt it. He’s pretty fat.”
Therapist: “Oh, um. Oh…I didn’t know…”
Me: “No, you know what I mean. Not in like a bad way. He’s just a total chunkster. I call him my little porkpie.”
Me: “No, like, endearingly. He’s just a tub-a-lub. I just can’t imagine him walking any time soon. Like how is he supposed to get those lumpy doughboy thighs off the ground?”
Therapist: “Oh…but…is he able to do his physical therapy?”
It was at this point that I realized she was referring to Eric, who recently had ACL surgery. NOT my chubby 8-month-old nephew.
Me: “Oh my god…wait…you think I’m sitting here telling you Eric is a fat chunk who won’t walk any time soon?!”
Therapist: “Oh! You’re talking about the baby!”
Me: “Yes! Eric is not too fat to walk!”
Therapist: “Yeah you never mentioned him being fat…I thought maybe he gained some weight after surgery…”
Me: “I do not call Eric ‘my little porkpie!'”
Therapist (laughing): “Ok, good…”
It was at this point that I realized my therapist, who is responsible for my mental sanity, thinks I’m a terrible, twisted human being.
Eh. I’m ok with that.