Tastes Like Feet

Hi, welcome back to the conversation. And, thanks for making eye contact. I know it's difficult considering my foot is in my mouth. I can't taste it yet, but I'm sure it's there.

Trust me, the minute I realize (maybe tomorrow or next week) the point of soled entry, I will cringe. Nay; I will be horrified. If it makes you feel any better -- and I'm sure it won't -- I do this all the time. It's only because I assume you're cool like me. Instead, you're just cool in your own way. I admire that. Well, not right now (my foots in the way of my thinking), but later, when the aforementioned horror sets in, I'll have grown to appreciate your particular style of cool.

I mean, let's face it. I'm new here at the office. I wanted to make conversation.  When the opportunity for small talk arose after seeing a car decal that mimicked a tramp stamp tattoo, why not crack wise at the expense of the dumb driver (and those dummies who got inked near the stink). Ha ha...eh...oh...

Let me stop here and thank you for being so gracious in the way you smiled and told me how you have one of those tattoos. You spared us both from my ongoing ridicule. In fact, I tried to soften the blow by admitting "I almost got a really dumb tattoo once". And, as you well know, that was a horrible idea.  Just as I said "dumb" and "mushroom" you pulled up your pant leg to expose your own dumb mushroom tattoo.  If it's anything other than cringe worthy, I'd say this shows we have common ground.  We both had a bad idea. But you had perseverance and balls to go through with it. I wussed out at the tattoo parlor like a little girl.

Later, during your birthday lunch when you made fun of bow ties, I thought, this is more common ground. For the most part, I think bow ties are retarded. In fact, I joined in on your bow tie bashing and (albeit unknowingly) made fun of the boss (who loves bow ties) and his fiance (who selected them for her wedding) while they sat quietly embarrassed. Oh, I laughed and laughed, feeling like one of the group, before they left the table and the faux pas was revealed. With our feet finally out of our respective mouths, we cringed together didn't we? It was good. We bonded.

So you know, keep all this in mind when I'm telling you a dumb blonde joke all while forgetting the fact you're a blonde or when I gift you a bottle of wine on your first anniversary of sobriety.  (Hey, all I heard was "anniversary".)