My skills of conversing with others has always been somewhat challenged. When I was younger, I was withdrawn and shy to the point of not even wanting to look people in the eye. It was a severe handicap, one that I have slowly overcome over the years.

On top of this, I’ve become more of a skeptic as the years have passed. This combination has made me an outspoken person with an odd idea of what things should be talked about. It’s almost as hazardous as my husband’s tendency to spout out snarky puns that he thinks are funny. Almost.

A great example would be my trip to my mother’s bank this week. Mom had to have outpatient surgery this week and I volunteered to take care of her while she recovered at home.  I did her housework, helped her care for her drainage thing-a-ma-jig, and fed us. I also ran some errands for her that were, oddly enough, scheduled the day of her surgery. No big deal, I was happy to help and get out of the house.

One of these errands involved going to the bank. Not my bank, but my mother’s bank. I had never, ever, been to this bank before so the tellers didn’t know me at all. I was also dressed very casually because of running errands in the heat (read that as I was wearing capri jeans, a large t-shirt, and sandals). This bank is more upscale and most people going in and out were dressed for business.


As soon as I walked through the glass doors, all of the tellers got on tip toe to watch me walk across the bank lobby. You see, their station is surrounded by high walls, so they couldn’t see over it too well. I started the transaction giggling and told them how funny they all looked trying to peer over the wall at me as I walked in.

The teller bristled. “Well, we just weren’t sure who you were.” Her lips persed shut as she clickity clacked on her computer. I guess I looked more menacing than I had realized. I tried to break up the tension with a comical observation. “You just all look like little meerkats sticking your heads up like that.” Nadda. She handed me my stuff and ended the transaction with, “Well we do have a job to do.” I guess having a sense of humor is not apart of that job.


And most interactions are pretty much like that. I make an oddball observation that I think is funny (not that I think I’m being funny, but rather, the thing I”m talking about is funny). People misunderstand and become defensive. I try a little humor to break the tension. They want to stab me.

I guess this is how Hubby feels when he makes a “funny” observation and I get offended. I guess I should work on that one.


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