The last time that I had a "foot-in-mouth" moment, I was unceremoniously yelled at and kicked out of an Upper East Side faux-cocktail party into a downpour of sleet and mud on the corner of 81st and York.
The following day, there was a Facebook album named after the incident in my dishonor (refer to the title of the post), after which I spent nearly a month trying to convince the guy I liked, who had regrettably invited me to the party in the first place, that I wasn't a complete nut job. Not an easy task.
It's too bad I hadn't yet discovered this amazing oddball but uncannily accurate blog (thanks N.), otherwise I might have attempted to use some of its methods. I'm thinking 'ACID DINGO SPIT' just might have worked.
The Awkward Situation Survival Guide
The following day, there was a Facebook album named after the incident in my dishonor (refer to the title of the post), after which I spent nearly a month trying to convince the guy I liked, who had regrettably invited me to the party in the first place, that I wasn't a complete nut job. Not an easy task.
It's too bad I hadn't yet discovered this amazing oddball but uncannily accurate blog (thanks N.), otherwise I might have attempted to use some of its methods. I'm thinking 'ACID DINGO SPIT' just might have worked.
The Awkward Situation Survival Guide
Foot-in-mouth
You are having a great time, talking loudly, feeling like the life of the party. You are soaring on wings of confidence. You get a little too bold. Something offensive slips out.
Now everyone is staring at you and your confidence implodes like a punctured balloon. Suddenly you can't find anything to say. You are nothing. You are dirt. Your soul is soaking up shame like a sponge and you are beginning to weigh the value of your friendships against the magnitude of your embarrassment.
The Solution: Confuse...
... or redirect...
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