Open Writing

“Oh, hi, Jacqui, you’re back!” I exclaimed, bumping into my colleague in the kitchen. Then I thought, of course she’s back, you dumb bird, or she wouldn’t be here!

“Careful, don’t trip!” is something I invariably say as the person I’m with stumbles and falls flat on their face, or, “Mind your knee!” as my friend knocks into the drawer cabinet under the desk. Too late, Isabel, too late.

Universally, mothers are prone to saying things like, “Put your jersey on, I’m cold… Oh, yes, that’s better isn’t it?” while Junior glares daggers. He’s hot as Hades, has his own internal heating system going full-blast without the need for knitted coverings.

Over the last six months my hairdresser has very kindly, and at no little cost to myself, creating blonde highlights in my dark but greying locks. Until last week I was delighted with the results, everyone commenting on how well going blonde suited me. Then in quick succession, two ‘friends’ dampened my enthusiasm:

Ben: “Isabel, your hair’s too short, and the colour? You actually chose that? Uh-uh!”

Hmph, I thought, who gave him the right to sit in judgement? I bit my tongue for a moment before saying that I was quite happy with it, comfortable with short hair, and that Leon liked it which was all that mattered.

Just before an orchestra rehearsal last week, the double-bass player, who’d been missing for a while, returned in full force. “Nice to have you back, Julian,” I said.

“Yes,” he replied, “Lots has changed… You’ve gone very grey!”

No doubt the stage lights bleached out the blonde – but – really? Grey? The highlights are designed to disguise the fact that a semi-permanent rinse won’t hide the grey any more. Hoisted on my own petard, or something. My hairdresser’s ploy just back-fired on me.

We all make enormous faux pas, which, as they leave our mouths, immediately make us want to crawl under the carpet and hide in embarrassment.

There was the radio announcer, a true professional whom everyone respected. One afternoon, he was having a bit of a laugh with the news reader, off air of course. A piece of music by Albert Ketèlby called, ‘In A Monastery Garden’ finished playing, and, still laughing, he announced, “that was a lovely piece by Ketèlby – so soothing, and you could even hear the tirds bwittering in the trees!” I swear I ‘heard’ him blush.

During my days as a school secretary, I regularly had to make all sorts of announcements over the intercom system, which reverberated into the depths of every classroom. One really busy morning I was juggling phones and people at reception, when I realised it was time for the announcements. I automatically reached for the handset of the intercom, picked it up, and said without thinking, “Weltevreden Park Primary, good morning,” then waited for a response as if I’d just answered the phone … The school sat wondering what on earth was going on until, very embarrassed, I continued, “Sorry everyone, here are the announcements: would the grade 5’s please meet in the library…”

Another embarrassing announcement that tripped me regularly was letting the school know of the arrival of the speech therapist every Friday afternoon. Sometimes I got her name right, and sometimes I stuttered and stammered in the most humiliating fashion: “Good afternoon, everyone, Mrs Shi… Mrs Sh… Sorry, Mrs LIPschitz is going to be in room 10 from 2 o’clock this afternoon.” Thankfully Mrs Lipschitz was a kind, understanding lady.

My worst slip-up was during my step-daughter’s fairy-tale wedding reception at an old English country house. The ceremony was over, the photographs and receiving line had been lived through, the speeches were made and, surprisingly, enjoyed. The meal was under way and soon the dancing would begin. I slipped out of the old oak-beamed ball room to visit the conveniences. As I came out of the cubicle, I nearly bumped into one of my step-son-in-law’s aunts on her way in, a lovely lady with a gentle face who I’d been wanting to chat to all evening. I meant to say, “Now that the speeches are done, I’m really looking forward to the rest of the evening!” It didn’t come out that way at all, though, did it? “Hallo”, I actually said, “I feel SO much better now!” then I realised where I’d just been and where she was about to go, I blushed and stammered and left her in a hurry. That eagerly-anticipated chat never happened. She has politely and very gently avoided me completely at those family gatherings where we might have met.

Some people are renowned for opening their mouths just to change feet. We certainly all do it from time to time, and in retrospect, it’s usually most amusing.

So next time you put your foot in it, just grin, apologise and say what you really wanted to in the first place.

Until next time… ‘here comes Treble!’

© Copyright Reserved
By Isabel Bradley

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