I Did It Again

Some time ago now I wrote about a classic foot in mouth moment in my life. It was one of the more ridiculously humorous moments I've had.

I did it again this morning at the same church, with the same person. Perhaps not quite as badly, but it was definitely a case of "same story, second verse."

Sigh.

My internal voice started warning me the second I walked in the door. She was standing right there, waiting. The long time nemesis to my ability to be gracious. The one who has the unique ability to bring forth in me a raging case of foot in mouth disease.

And so my internal voice was talking. "Be careful. Smile. Be polite. Minimal words. Filter."

It didn't work.

I seem to possess the unique ability to shock this woman, even when the things I say aren't all that shocking.

"Are you ready for Christmas," she asked.

I laughed, cheerfully, and answered lightly, honestly, "Nope!"

So far so good.

"Well you know it's going to come anyway, whether you're ready or not!"

(In retrospect, who says something like that?)

Even as I responded again, my internal voice was screaming those same warnings it had been sounding since I entered the building, "Lisa Christine, be polite! Smile! Filter!"

And then the train derailed, though I didn't know it yet.

My mouth opened, ignore the warnings still sounding within me, and I spoke, still with a cheerful tone, "That's okay, I'm not its biggest fan. It can come and go and it will be fine."

Honesty is not the best policy. Sharing a bit of ambivalence over someone's pointed cheer is bad news.

And the shock registered on her face.

I wasn't even going for shock. I've been guilty of shooting for that in the past, but today I was going for the opposite.  In this case, I was simply expressing the thought that crossed my mind - that though Christmas is special, I'm just a bit ambivalent about it.  Glad for it, but not all that worried about it's coming and going.  It really didn't occur to me that this would be a piece of news that would be shocking, or offensive. 

But it was.

Sigh. Sometimes I just can't win.

At least this one won't require a report to mom and dad to allay the tattling concern of a well meaning busy body. That, in nearly three decades of navigating this stony pastor's kid journey is a blessing all its own!

I Should Have Kept My Mouth Shut!

You know those moments, the ones where you realize just a few seconds too late, that it was definitely a bad idea to say that, whatever that is?  I had one recently.

Mine was the sort of epic fail that makes pastor's kids or other children of people in some sort of public life the world over cringe in sympathy. 

It involved a church lady.

Not just any church lady, but that one.  You know, the one who wears the skirt where the waist sits just a little bit too high, the skirt that reaches quite properly to just below the knee, with the button down blouse tucked into it.  She always has pantyhose on.  And pumps.  But she doesn't like the clicking noise that the pumps make on the wooden floor of the gym, so she kind of tiptoes around - sort of like she's creeping up on you.  (I do an excellent impression of this tiptoeing, and I'd be happy to share with you all in person sometime.)  She's the one who is very well meaning, but incredibly nosy.  The one who is an administrator (that's the nice "Christian" word for "control freak," right?)  The one that doesn't hear "no" very often, mostly because she's a fan of either guilt or "voluntelling" - whatever works.

There is one of these ladies in my life.  This particular one has made me cringe since, well, childhood, for all of the reasons listed above, magnified by the fact that my father is her pastor.

Every time I have a conversation with her (and these days, they're thankfully rare), I forget that it's probably not wise to be my usual bluntly honest self, and my mental filters kick in just a moment too late.

The last time it happened was about two weeks back.

It started innocuously.  I got the usual "It's so good to see you here, Lisa."  (I get that a lot when I visit my dad's church.  It's part of the deal when you're the pastor's kid.  It's an even bigger part of the deal when you're the only child of said pastor to have decided to find a spiritual home someplace other than the church your dad pastor's.)  Outloud I returned some sort of pleasantry.  In my head, I was reminding myself that this was not a guilt trip comment (even though it often feels like one).  I was telling myself that this lady was trying to be genuinely nice, and that I needed to receive it that way, whatever my issues were.

Perhaps I should stop having conversations with myself when busy having a conversation with people with whom many years of experience have taught the neccessity of careful filtering of all comments made aloud.

Because, you see, she wasn't done.  The "what are you doing now" nosyness had kicked in.

"Are you still living with your grandma?"

(for you to appreciate the full magnitude of what was to come, you should know that my grandma rather proudly attends this church, is sort of buddy-buddy with this particular person, and had, based on the number of questions I got from her buddies, clearly told all of her friends how delighted she was that I was moving into her basement, back when I was moving into her basement.)

"yes, I'm still living there."

"And do you like it?"

"No, I hate it."

Less than a second after those words came out of my mouth, that internal voice was screaming at me, not just chiding.  "Lisa Christine!  What did you just say??? And to who did you say it?  What were you thinking?  Look at her face!"

Her face was slightly stunned and then highly disappointed.

Her recovery was quick though, and prying, "Oh!  I thought it would be such a good arrangement!"

A pause.

A painful, life flashing before my eyes, I'm twelve again and going to get in trouble for this, pause.

"You just prefer living on your own?"

"Mmm..."

You see, my filters had kicked in.  Mono-syllables, no real words.  Always the best bet.

The worst part is, experience has taught me that this particular church lady is the sort who would quite possibly go straight to my parents with her disappointed concern.

And that left me only one option.

Confession.

To both of my parents, in various conversations through the afternoon.

Just in case some damage control needed to be done.

(I don't think it has, by the way).

My parents know the lady, and were sympathetic, and laughed at my description of my conversational gaffe.

But I have thought of it many times in the following weeks.

I prefer a policy of honesty, all the time, often a bit blunt.

In that case, though, it would have been so much better, for everyone involved, if I had just kept my mouth shut!