Trap Doors

There are many times within a day when I wish someone would do the sensible and wire my mouth shut.  Not because I eat too much, although that is a consideration worthy of another blog, but because I come out with the most awful gaffes.  I don’t mean to be rude, insulting, stupid, whingey, over-excited, controlling, unsympathetic… I’ll stop there before I rewrite the dicitonary, but you get my point.  Everyone makes mistakes but I seem to operate at the top end-of-the scale.  No, I am not going to tell you all the horrendous things I have said and done, or even volunteer an example, suffice to say that my grovelling and appeal abilities are second-to-none.  They are so good and so ingrained that I find myself apologising to the car if I slam the door shut too hard.  I think the guilt gene that is part of the XX chromosomal make-up has helped me on the path to remorsefulness.  Without it I’d just be a complete bitch – actually, now I come to think of it, it is possible that particular gene is switched off sometimes…

Those moments when I accidentally say soemthing I oughtn’t are like the trap doors on stages.  You know they’re there, you know what happens when they’re sprung, but unlike those trap doors the handle is in your grasp.  You get excited, or distracted and you hand jerks that lever and the door yawns opens.  As you tumble you see the error of your ways flip you the finger as you fall past it and hope there is a foot to kick you in the butt for being so stupid.

Of course, Freud would discount this theory.  Mistakes are merely your subconcious overpowering your cowardly concious mind.  How awful is that?  The raitonal, sane side of you being overpowered by the childish trantrums of your subconscious, desperate to have its view heard irrespective of the harm and hurt caused.  A moral mental battle – more of a mental moral dilemma.  If this is the case I just wish my subconscious would do the decent thing and sleep during the day and entertain me in my dreams.

I’m no diplomat – I think I’ll get onto the T-shirt printers and order a batch load – and I have no wish to embroil myself in the arguments and discussions that surround world peace (with my luck we would have armageddon before lunchtime), but I do care and that perhaps is my saving grace.  A friend of mine told me once I would never be happy because I was too much like the whipped puppy desperate for all to like me.  Actually he is wrong.  I don’t want everyone to like me.  I only want the people I like and admire to like me.  Unfortunately I am a very gregarious person and a seriously bad judge of character.  There are very few people I don’t like and only one I actively dislike.  So…maybe he has a point, a small one!

My sackcloth and ashes are in the wash, so for today I shall go out into the sun and attempt to withhold the words that bubble up in my mouth, offering a smile instead.