Pardon Me if I'm Right

There are a few phrases in the English language that give me the willies. They include but are not limited to

* "I think I'll go slip into something a little more comfortable."
* "We need to talk."
* "No offense, but..."

I try to avoid using these phrases at all cost. Obviously, I've not had an opportunity to use the first one, but someday when I get married, I promise to not say it. It's icky. Instead, it's my (funny) plan to, on my way to my honeymoon from the reception, rock back and forth and in a shaky, scared voice sing, "Girl, you'll be a woman soon."

As far as the next one, if you need to talk, talk. This qualifying statement strikes fear in the hearts of all rational people everywhere. "We need to talk" just means you're gonna get reamed.

And finally, the phrase "no offense" is just plain awful. I remember a girl I knew growing up always saying it, and then following it up with one rude comment after another. I remember saying it to another childhood friend, but she didn't know what it meant, and by the time I was done trying (unsuccessfully) to explain it to this dopey girl, I was mad as heckfire. I did think it was funny Ricky Bobby in that wonderful movie "Talladega Nights" would say "with all due respect" instead, and my beloved fictional Georgia Nicholson always says "Pardon me if I'm right" (rather than "excuse me if I'm wrong") and I get a hearty laugh. But still, you pretty much know that if you use any of these variations, you are inevitably going to be super rude.

Then again, isn't there that old saying that it's a fool who takes offense when none is intended? As much as nonsense delights me, I am trying to be less foolish, though not less spineless.

For example, last night I got doubly stood-up. That's right-- two boys! Haha! I'm not at all mad, though, because it's actually rather funny. As you know, Big Jake was supposed to come over last night, but the poor little peanut has been having a difficult week. I'd actually given him a gracious way out the night before, and he took me up on it. Was I upset? Not at all. And what soothed any ruffled feathers (not that there were any, but had there been) was No. 102 asking me for ice cream after class last night. Except that after we were done with our karaoke rendition of "Love Shack," he took off without saying goodbye. No pistachio ice cream for me, I guess. Must have been my singing, though I can't imagine anyone thinking that a) my "Tin roof, rusted" was anything less than charming and b) that I was worse than that horrible kid singing Harry Belafonte's "Day-o." Regardless, I think it's a new record. I'm not offended, I'm amused.

And I didn't get offended or even that bothered when last night, for the second night in a row, I woke up to my phone ringing at a ghastly hour. Wednesday night a call came in about 2:15. Last night, the phone woke me up at 1:45. Rude, right? It was a number I didn't recognize, so I didn't answer, but both times I was really surprised at the lateness of the hour. Last night I got a little worried and had trouble falling back to sleep. I'm pretty sure it was a wrong number, but let's hope Big Jake didn't scrawl my phone number on a bathroom stall in Deming during our road trip. This morning, I called the number about 7 a.m. after I got out of the shower and dressed for the day. The ringtone was some kind of metal-band brouhaha. I wasn't impressed. A very groggy voice answered the phone (some would argue that calling before 8 a.m. is quite rude, but then again, isn't calling at 1:45 a.m. also a bit inconsiderate?). I said, in my most-chipper voice, "Good morning! I've missed a couple calls from this number!" The man said, "Who is this?" in what I think he imagined was a sexy voice. I said, "This is Rachel, and I think you've been dialing my number by mistake. Who is this?" I couldn't really tell if he said his name was Woody or Willy or something else, but it didn't matter. He said, "Your voice sounds kind of familiar." I wanted to say, "Yeah, chump. It's because you've been listening to my voicemail greeting, you little perv." But I just said, "Well, I'm sure you've been calling the wrong number, but have a nice day!" See, not offended. Just killing with kindness.

I will say one thing that offended me just a bit this week was doing yard work, and discovering a lighter in the long grasses near my block wall. I'm pretty sure it belonged to the scum bucket who tried to break into my house (the second round) last summer. He must have dropped it while scaling the wall. I did have one guest who smokes since then, but she wouldn't use a cheap Bic lighter. Seems really beneath her, so I have every reason to believe it was Mr. Thievery Pants. Still, it's nothing to get worked up about. And forgive me if I've offended my readers who smoke, but you know, no offense.