An Interlude in Which We Discuss Foot-in-Mouth Disorder
I really hate when I open my mouth to say something and it chomps my tender ass to pieces.
An example:
I became the dreaded SPOILER of my English class, today. That obnoxious son of a (or bitch, since, ya know, I'm a girl) who just has to ruin the ending for everyone else because she's not having fun. Hey, it's not far from the truth. But where I usually have enough brains to keep my trap shut, today my brains weren't functioning and lo and behold, stupidity reigned.
We're reading Farewell to Arms in my English class, and my already intense hatred for anything Ernest Hemingway has grown to complete and utter loathing. All throughout this novel of love and death and bullshit, I found myself fumbling for a trash recepticle to puke in. I couldn't stand Frederick Henry, and I couldn't stand that pathetic excuse for a love interest known as Catherine. This might've been why, at the end of the book, I was (not grateful, because that's a bad word), but less than saddened that Catherine and the baby died -- it bolstered my belief that Frederick Henry was a complete and utter douchebag/womanizing prick and that Hemingway is highly overrated. But while I had finished this crap, some of my other companions did not, and they remained blissfully unaware of what was going to happen in Book Five.
Here's where I come in.
I feel really comfortable around my English class of 10 people -- it's probably the only place where I act like myself, be a smart-ass, and feel like people won't hate me for the rest of my high school life. There's just an air of acceptance I get from these people that I don't really get anywhere else, and because of this, I have become highly prone to getting lazy with my social etiquette and doing something completely stupid.
Today, someone mentioned that the ending was terrible.
In response, I replied, loudly and quite clearly, "DEAD BABY."
It took me about .5 seconds after this intensely stupid move to understand quite clearly that heeeey, some people hadn't quite finished the book. And I was getting death glares.
This was very awkward. Intensely awkward. So awkward that my usually incredibly easy-going teacher came over and whispered (and everybody hates the ear-whisper -- it's like the kiss of death from this woman) that it "is highly advisable that you remain quiet the rest of class."
Yes, ma'am. Of course, I didn't really heed her advisory all that well, but I kind of stuck with it. And as guilt consumed me like the Catholic that I'm not, I finally requested permission to apologize in front of the class about my really, really, really, really dumb move.
I don't remember my speech completely, but it was something around the lines of, "hey, I'm really sorry for being an obnoxious idiot who ruined the ending for some people. I understand now that not everyone finished the book and loudly announcing that there was a dead baby involved might've not been the most prudent of things to do. I apologize for acting like an immature junior, and I thought you'd like to know my foot is so far in my mouth I might as well be eating my calf."
They smiled and laughed, which I see as progress, but I still find myself consumed by this gnawing guilt.
Lesson learned?
Megan, sometimes you need to keep your damn mouth shut.
An example:
I became the dreaded SPOILER of my English class, today. That obnoxious son of a (or bitch, since, ya know, I'm a girl) who just has to ruin the ending for everyone else because she's not having fun. Hey, it's not far from the truth. But where I usually have enough brains to keep my trap shut, today my brains weren't functioning and lo and behold, stupidity reigned.
We're reading Farewell to Arms in my English class, and my already intense hatred for anything Ernest Hemingway has grown to complete and utter loathing. All throughout this novel of love and death and bullshit, I found myself fumbling for a trash recepticle to puke in. I couldn't stand Frederick Henry, and I couldn't stand that pathetic excuse for a love interest known as Catherine. This might've been why, at the end of the book, I was (not grateful, because that's a bad word), but less than saddened that Catherine and the baby died -- it bolstered my belief that Frederick Henry was a complete and utter douchebag/womanizing prick and that Hemingway is highly overrated. But while I had finished this crap, some of my other companions did not, and they remained blissfully unaware of what was going to happen in Book Five.
Here's where I come in.
I feel really comfortable around my English class of 10 people -- it's probably the only place where I act like myself, be a smart-ass, and feel like people won't hate me for the rest of my high school life. There's just an air of acceptance I get from these people that I don't really get anywhere else, and because of this, I have become highly prone to getting lazy with my social etiquette and doing something completely stupid.
Today, someone mentioned that the ending was terrible.
In response, I replied, loudly and quite clearly, "DEAD BABY."
It took me about .5 seconds after this intensely stupid move to understand quite clearly that heeeey, some people hadn't quite finished the book. And I was getting death glares.
This was very awkward. Intensely awkward. So awkward that my usually incredibly easy-going teacher came over and whispered (and everybody hates the ear-whisper -- it's like the kiss of death from this woman) that it "is highly advisable that you remain quiet the rest of class."
Yes, ma'am. Of course, I didn't really heed her advisory all that well, but I kind of stuck with it. And as guilt consumed me like the Catholic that I'm not, I finally requested permission to apologize in front of the class about my really, really, really, really dumb move.
I don't remember my speech completely, but it was something around the lines of, "hey, I'm really sorry for being an obnoxious idiot who ruined the ending for some people. I understand now that not everyone finished the book and loudly announcing that there was a dead baby involved might've not been the most prudent of things to do. I apologize for acting like an immature junior, and I thought you'd like to know my foot is so far in my mouth I might as well be eating my calf."
They smiled and laughed, which I see as progress, but I still find myself consumed by this gnawing guilt.
Lesson learned?
Megan, sometimes you need to keep your damn mouth shut.