When it’s been a long day the mouth filter slips down an inch or so more and I tend to start talk before thinking.
As an example… Less than an hour ago I told the Starbucks lady to “hustle” while she was grinding my coffee beans.
I may not have been joking. Maggie may have been mortified.
If you’ve never been mortified in my presence we haven’t hung out nearly enough.
It’s hard to mortify me.
That’s the right answer 😉
My mom always accused us kids of mortifying her. We were guilty of ignorance of things she should have taught us and she was guilty of not packing for the guilt trip.
Talk about mortifying? It has been well documented in these pages about the time mom got shit faced drunk in the middle of the afternoon at the Country Club, on a weekday, and drove a station wagon full of kids home. Ran a red light. The guy she almost creamed followed us home and screamed at mom from the bottom of the driveway and somebody called the old man. He comes home from work. Tells me, “Don’t let her leave!” I’d of been mortified if I’d known what it was. Instead, i disassociated myself from the whole affair. Didn’t come up for air until approx 1983. Disassociation is a neat trick, but it has side effects.
Disassociation — the cool kids shouldn’t know of this magic as much as they do. I have too many stories, none I’d like to ever write down.
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