Wednesday, February 23, 2005

Mouth versus head

Some time ago, I realized that if the world could see into my head and read my thoughts, I would be:

a. unemployed
b. institutionalised
c. burnt at the stake.

But today I became even more aware of the yawning chasm between what I am thinking and what comes out of my mouth. I'll give you a few examples:

Team Leader: Don't forget we have a group lunch today, to say farewell to Jane who is going off on maternity leave for the second time in eighteen months!

Mouth: Yes, of course, I marked it in my calendar! I'll definitely be there!
Head: Oh blech. I'd rather gut a pig and eat its raw liver with my bare hands than go to that lunch.

At group lunch, whispered gossip at the other end of the table.

Mouth: What's everybody talking about?
Head: Don't ask! Don't ask! I know why they are whispering. Whispering means the bad thing! The baaaaad thing!

Colleague: Oh, Whatshername is also pregnant again.
Mouth: How nice for her.
Head: I knew I shouldn't have asked. I now wish to stick a fork in my eye.

Later that day, the phone rings. It's my friendly former boss, now on maternity leave.

FB: Hi, I am at the front of the building. I had to stop by to pick up some stuff. And I have the baby with me! Do you want to see him?
Mouth: How lovely, I'll be right there.
Head: AIEEEEE! Drop the phone, move quietly toward the fire exit, and run, run, run for your life! Or do you think she would notice if I just went and hid in the bathroom until she goes away?

At front, FB is gently rolling the baby carriage back and forthwith the bundle of joy inside.

Mouth: Hi, how are you, you look great!

FB: I feel OK. Look, here he is.
Mouth: Oh, how sweet.

FB reaches in to the carriage to adjust his tiny little furry hat. She says: Do you want to hold him?
Mouth: Ooh, yes, please.
Head: Right. As soon as she hands you the kid, break for the revolving door. She's probably too milk-logged to keep up with you.

FB: He might be a little grumpy. I couldn't find a quiet place to feed him.
Mouth: Yes, that must be tricky around this office.
Head: AIEEEE. I am holding a small squishy baby boy. Baby flesh! I smell baby flesh! I see baby flesh!

Baby starts to cry. I joggle him up and down, trying not cry myself and/or gobble him whole.

FB: We'd better go, I think he's going to start to scream the place down in a minute. Guess he needs his nap.
Mouth: OK. Here, you can take him back now.
Head: Yes, take him, along with my left ventricle.

FB: Don't worry, I'll visit again soon.
Mouth: Oh yes, please do. It's nice to see you. Give me a call so I know when you are coming.
Head: Even though I will not be here. For the foreseeable future, I will be at home, in my pyjamas, cramming large slices of cake into my mouth.

FB: Bye now!
Mouth: Bye! Bye baby boy!

The head goes dangerously quiet. The only sound is a wet splash as my body suddenly disintegrates into a puddle on the floor.


At 9:10 PM, Blogger amyesq said...

Just wait a few more months and some of the "head" things will become one with the "mouth" things.

Example: Two months ago one of my former colleagues came to work to show off her gorgeous three-week old "oops" baby. She was in the hallway outside of my office talking to a bunch of the secretaries dangerously making her way to my side of the office.

Secretary: "Hey Amy, Christy brought in little Parker!"

Mind: "No babies!"
Mouth: "No babies!"
Body: Kicks office door shut with foot.

At 10:37 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

Oh my mind does the same thing but I'm sure my comments are much more vitrolic...and use more swear word ;)


At 10:54 PM, Blogger Suz said...

One of these days, I will both think and say, "get your butt-ugly pregnant ass away from me." And I wonder why I'm reluctant to leave the house anymore.

At 11:43 PM, Blogger Soper said...

Och, grab that bay-bee and run!

At 1:54 PM, Blogger E. said...

AIEEEEEE! That's it, I think all infertiles need blanket restraining orders for pregnant people. They cannot come within a kilometer* radius of us, or they will be arrested.

*Notice how I sensitively used the metric standard? Just for you, Mare. :) Love you.

At 12:29 AM, Blogger Anna H. said...

I'm not exaggerating when I tell you that if my office weren't on the fourth floor I would jump out the bathroom window to avoid the newborns of co-workers.

I did it once at a birthday party when the surprise guest -- a junkie male stripper with track marks, ass pimples and red cowboy boots (and nothing else) -- started grinding his crotch in my face. I went to the bathroom, locked the door, climbed out the window and ran home to my sweet, non-junkie husband.

I have no shame when it comes to avoiding uncomfortable situations (or strange men's dirty penises)...



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