I usually always try to mind my manners. There are times when I flat out fail but most of the time, I think I have that stuff on lock. From when I was a very little girl, I was taught to be polite, say please, say thank you, and the like. My brother, Bobby, was taught the same, but I think he missed a few points along the way.
When it comes to my brother and me, we are straight up extroverts.
We are both very adaptable, very comfortable in our own skin, and very, very talkative. So talkative, in fact, that it isn't a rare occurrence for one of us to spit out some foot-in-mouth comment without thinking.
I'm pretty sure that I can speak for Bobby when I say that we never mean these things.
When I told Kori one night that he didn't need to eat dinner, I was not calling him fat. I just didn't want him to sign off the internet. When I told Elizabeth that people shouldn't call me a "hooka face" like they playfully call her sometimes because I wasn't an actual "hooka face," I was in no way saying that she was one. I wasn't!
I swear to you. They were misunderstandings!! MISUNDERSTANDINGS! But you know what? The damage is done. My words are like daggers. I am a soul cruncher. I crunch souls...with my words.
[What is this?!]
The difference between Bobby and me is that I know how to censor what comes out of my mouth for the most part. And Bobby...well...he pretty much verbalizes every thought. The good. The bad. And definitely the ugly.
We've always said that if he keeps spouting off without thinking first and just verbalizes everything that pops into his head, one day he's just going to get what's coming. Could be a pop to the ol' noggin. Could be someone throwing some comment right back in his face. We don't know, but that is the warning we've always given him.
It's been years and not once has this happened. Not a pop, not a comeback, not a thing. The guy is immune. I have never understood it!!
For instance, this one time a woman came over to our house for one of my mom's little get-togethers. She had this thick New Orleans-esque accent that is sometimes referred to as a "yat" dialect. Her voice was best described as "yatty." If you are from New Orleans, you most likely know what I am talking about.
So she's in our house and within the first ten minutes of being in our home, Bobby blurts, "OH MY GOSH. WHY ARE YOU TALKING LIKE THAT?!" *seizure* This is not the first time something like this has happened. There are countless memories where my face has turned crimson and felt like fire because of some thought that would have been better kept just a thought that my brother decided to share. "Here it comes," I thought. "A fist right to the schnoz. An olfactory nerve slugger. Here it is. What we've all been expecting."
But how did this woman react to such a remark? "Haha! I love this kid!!"
If it were me, I'd have a bloody nose. That or the woman would call me a harlett or a dingledorf and storm out.
I don't know how Bobby does it, but he does it. And I am always left mystified as to how the hippo he got away with it.
Meanwhile, Miss Soul Cruncher over here will probably end up on the news after being beaten up by some woman in CVS who mistook my compliment on her hair for some hate crime or something.
And you'll probably get shot for it...unless you are my brother.