My mother thinks it’s pride that has me tell stories of my awkwardness due to a lack of filter. Mostly I am just incredulous. What part of my brain makes me keep talking when things get weird? I seem to be lacking the bit that fuels fight or flight and am left with something like distracting shadow puppets. “No don’t eat me, look at this pretty bird. Pretty bird pretty bird.” When other people would quietly moonwalk out of the room, I add characters to the charade and props. Sometimes I’m inside myself telling me to shut up but the critter in charge, whomever that may be, has other plans. More, bigger, YES add twinkle lights, what a show…sigh.
the latest production:
a regular has made it known that he has affections for sketchy Jeff who has a fella. She has told this regular several times that she is happily betrothed. We know a little bit about this guy. He’s a single father of two. Seems nice if persistent. We didn’t know his name. So as is often the case we gave him one. He came in last week and was chatting sketchy Jeff up. After a bit he turns to me and says I’m sure you’ll get the back story after I leave.
normal person would say: ok
monkey says: oh no I know you, you’re dead wife guy. Followed by the sound of his jaw shattering as it hit the bar top being the only sound beside crickets we hear.
Now begins the real genius: sorry for your loss it’s shocking when someone our age loses a spouse how old are you well this is a great time to learn your name I’m monkey (he tells me his name as I’m taking in air to continue my nervous diatribe) nice to meet you $&9@ now we know your name we don’t have to refer to you in that way oh you’re leaving have a nice weekend good luck with the kids……..
he walks, out sketchy Jeff falls on the floor, actual steam comes out of my ears. We haven’t seen him since.
Nope, not proud, amazed I came out unscathed.E