Another Unscripted Moment

Every once in a while it becomes apparent I spend too much time either talking to little people or meandering around in my head and not enough time conversing with grown-ups.

Here's a recent example. There are probably lots of other ones, but my short-term/long-term memory (okay, memory in general) is on the fritz, I think because I have too many things to remember.

This example falls into the category "Try Not to Blurt." Blurting is okay if you are a kid; not so much when you are, allegedly, a grown-up.

I was talking to a mom who lives nearby. Our boys are in the same class and we often walk to and from school together. Sometimes the kids play after school and the other day, when she was at my house, a big button fell off her coat. Groom-boy found it in the backyard and I returned it to her a few days later when we were picking up the boys. She was telling me about how she's had to sew several buttons onto this particular coat because they keep popping off.

I sez, and here you will see why I am a professional communicator, "Yeah, I had a coat that did that all the time, too. Of course I was a student and I didn't pay much for it."

Read: "That's one cheap coat you've got there, ma'am."

I totally did not mean to suggest the coat was crummy. It's a spiffy coat! Sigh. She was gracious. I was oblivious. We continued chatting as we started the trek home with the boys. I didn't really think about what I had said until later that night when, for whatever reason, I was remembering our conversation. Oh. My. Gawd.

It's probably a good thing I am not in the diplomatic corps.

So when I saw her today and pointed out my blurt, she laughed and claimed she hadn't noticed it. She's very sweet. I'm very idiotic.

I think certain social skills with adults are rusty due to the fact I am being held prisoner in my own home - I mean - since I am a work-from-home-mom. I also think part of my trouble is I am a writer, not an orator. As such, I usually have the opportunity to consider my words. I'd probably fare better if life were scripted - or would I? Perhaps I'd spend less time with my foot in my mouth, but then what would I blog about?