Help! My foot's stuck in my mouth!
We all have little banks of stories we drag out, like inexpert stand ups, when on various topics of conversation with new audiences (though there's always the odd one or two hardcores who've heard the damn things a thousand times before and wish you'd get a few new lines). And because we do mindlessly churn these ridiculous and laregly uninteresting anecdotes out time and time again without any subjective consideration, there's always an embarrassing moment around the corner.
Sometimes you get the distinct feeling that you shouldn't tell the story that has popped into your head, but whatever state of nervousness/hyperactivity/drunkenness you are in precludes your ability to judge correctly and you tell it anyway, only to be met with a silent, eye-averting moment. You realise, as you finish your artless recollection of so and so's best mate's girlfriend's fall from grace one debauched evening, for example, how absolutely directly the tale relates one of your listeners, how intensely idiotic you look and how stupid you are for not reading the 'please for the love of god stop' signs from all and sundry. By the time you realise, panic, and the subject is turned to lighter things by some more socially able member of the company, it's too late to apologise, or backtrack, or say anything at all, and then you spend the subsequent days blushing furiously and kicking yourself mentally for your tactless indelicacy, envisioning countless scenarios in which your companions rehash the incident and ponder over how they could have missed such a glaring character flaw...
Or maybe that's just me.
Sometimes you get the distinct feeling that you shouldn't tell the story that has popped into your head, but whatever state of nervousness/hyperactivity/drunkenness you are in precludes your ability to judge correctly and you tell it anyway, only to be met with a silent, eye-averting moment. You realise, as you finish your artless recollection of so and so's best mate's girlfriend's fall from grace one debauched evening, for example, how absolutely directly the tale relates one of your listeners, how intensely idiotic you look and how stupid you are for not reading the 'please for the love of god stop' signs from all and sundry. By the time you realise, panic, and the subject is turned to lighter things by some more socially able member of the company, it's too late to apologise, or backtrack, or say anything at all, and then you spend the subsequent days blushing furiously and kicking yourself mentally for your tactless indelicacy, envisioning countless scenarios in which your companions rehash the incident and ponder over how they could have missed such a glaring character flaw...
Or maybe that's just me.