Sometimes in social situations I end up laughing inappropriately. I'm such a sad sack.
Weddings, graduations, or social gatherings are not immune to my nervousness turned giggles. I even manage to put the "fun" back in "funeral" squelching nearly-uncontrollable, pant-peeing laughter. Not cool.
Once Mr Coffee and I nearly got booted from a birthing class we took years and years ago. While everyone meditated and went "to their happy place", I got the giggles and couldn't stop. I'm sure the instructor was upset, but she said happy place, right?
Just look at it from my point of view. It's logical that said "happy place" sounds not unlike "Play Place". You know? The Play Place: a questionably sterile area of McDonalds filled with squealing children, some freaky statue, and a tower of tube slides to get stuck in.
This is not tranquil or serene for delivery. Suddenly, my mind's eye was thrust into an alternate universe where Ronald McDonald was my OB/GYN assisted by the Quaker Oats Guy and Burger King Dude. This is not tranquil or serene either. One look at Burger King Dude and that baby would be crawling back in. Just the thought of any one of those creepy smilers delivering my baby in say, a ball pit/diaper pail or tube slide/wrong side of the tracks...well, it made me laugh. A lot. Call me demented but really, have you met me?
Fourteen years and four "happy places" later, the family and I attended a party over the weekend. It was a large house and full of merry guests. I routinely keep to myself in social situations such as this, observing and listen into others conversations like the good blogger I am. I'm certain it's considered rude, however if I pretend not to listen in, what is said in a room full of people is fair game. Fair blog-foddery game.
The majority of people in attendance I had never met. My ears were at full perk and as expected, I excitedly hit paydirt half way through the night with this gem. And with Mr Coffee by my side:
A tall man, who I shall call The Mr., begins to introduce his wife to an acquaintance, "Honey, I don't believe you met Barbara."
Barbara crams a chip in her mouth and speaks curiously, "Oh, this is your wife?" she points between them with another chip in hand. Barbara appears puzzled perhaps from appetizer overload but regardless turns to The Mrs., offers an outstretched hand, and states loudly, "Oh, Hi. Wait, didn't you used to be blonde?"
Clearly the Mrs. is dark-haired and could never pull off blonde. However, the big elephant in the room is that The Mr. has married again recently. The dark-haired Mrs is now wife no. 2 or 3. Even hubby and I know this. Sadly, BarbaraVerbalVomit knows this but clearly she was unable put two and two together because too much food was blocking blood flow to her brain.
Can you see how fun this conversation will be?
Social situations dictate that when someone introduces you to their wife, it's a pretty sure bet that the couple would be just that: husband and wife. This fact is not lost on me nor most of the world's populace. This social tradition of introductions is apparently not a factor for BarbaraChipFaced.
BarbaraSocialTard smiles half-heartedly in a frail move to somehow save face. Graciously, The Mrs takes BarbaraBrainDamage by the hand, shakes politely, and smiles, "No, I've never gone blonde..."
BarbaraEggOnFace realizes her gaucherie and further digs her social grave, "Oh, then you must be the newest wife."
The newest wife? Seriously?
The Mrs. looks at her husband with a forced smile that says simply "What. The. Hell" and turns back to BarbaraBlunderWonder, "It's okay, it happens to me all the time."
Everyone is aware of the awkward silence that permeates every inch of the room. Mr Coffee and I, in our infinite wisdom, covertly look at each other to gain some sort of composure. He and I both know what's coming.
Have I mentioned that Mr Coffee and I are both kindred, socially retarded souls?
By glancing at Mr Coffee, I have effectively tried to put out the proverbial social house fire with a crap load of laughing napalm. I ended up stuffing down the laugh which resulted in a loud snort/guffaw. My eyes go wide and I jerked around to face the counter to avoid any sort of eye contact. Mr Coffee cleared his throat in true wing man style giving me a way out of the room without being tarred and feathered. I spied the coffee pot on the counter and made a feeble attempt to look like I was going for another refill. I'd been on my fifth styrofoam (dixie) cup so it's feasible I would have been getting more coffee.
Keeping my head down, the room began to busy with a queue for the buffet. I stole out of there like my bladder depended on it. I just hope no one heard the peals of laughter coming from the upstairs bathroom.
And don't you dare judge me. I had to escape to the bathroom. I had six cups of coffee.
~Bee says, "hahhahaaha....."