I'll never be a good little Socialist.......or witty conversationalist......or silver-tongued small-talker oozing forth a sanguine affability.
Cheeze-its, after the awkward banter I've stumbled through this past week I'd be seated square in the middle of the slow table inside the Socialism Special Ed. class.
Yeah, I know what the true definition of Socialism, but I always thought it would be more aptly applied to those whose oratory skills have made them the Master Of Mingle at parties and social events.
So, I dropped off my 7-year old son at a birthday party for one of his classmates on Saturday. The birthday girl is half-Chinese and elected to go with a Snake Party theme since that's her Zodiac sign.
Fine. In the meantime I took the rest of the mini-Infidels to the corner Church where they featured a live Jerusalem-styled marketplace, camel/donkey rides, and snow pumped in for the kids to play in.
While there, I stepped in camel crap and then followed up the olfactory horrors by sampling some very stinky cheese at Kroger's.
I'm grateful for the poop protection that my closed-toe shoes and jeans had to offer. Can you imagine waltzing through a field of feces wearing your toe sandals and ground-dragging robes like in the times of Jesus?
Clumps of Camel Crap: You're soaking in it!
When we went to pick up my son I was wholly unprepared for the gregarious father who greeted me at the door and insisted on getting into my personal space to show me some party pictures he snapped on his Blackberry.
See, I have to psyche myself up for these kind of encounters. It can't just happen without me mentally preparing and rehearsing otherwise I just ramble on nervously about weird topics.
I can sympathize with the Allman Brothers for I too was born a Ramblin' (Wo)Man.
Not only did I stink at trying to attempt a normal conversation with this outgoing dad, I also just plain stunk.
I silently hoped that maybe he'd been involved in an unfortunate skunk wrangling accident in his youth and had to have his sense of smell permanently removed.
Without meaning to, I used my stinky cheese mouth to discuss the party happenings.....and was horrified at the snakey sexual euphemisms that inadvertently slipped out.
The more I tried to regain my composure and steer the discussion away from snakes, the more I failed and blushed redder and redder.
I finished up my Tour de Nerd speech by discussing racism in the classroom.
I don't even know where that came from but at least it wasn't about snakes.......or anything sexual.
I could tell that this dad was real impressed with me as he stealthily made his escape and practically ran to the kitchen.
I'll never be able to ascertain if it was my physical stink that drove him off or my mental stink.
I'm suddenly dreading the Classroom Christmas Party in 2 weeks.
I need a stunt double to handle the perilous nature of socializing for me.