Live, Learn, Learn Some More, Live Better

"She had an unequalled gift...of squeezing big mistakes into small opportunities." Henry James (1843-1916)

I think I may have told off my MIL last night. She called my cell while I was driving to class and asked me to give C. a message. That sounded more Mafia than it really was. "She wanted to send him a message." Really, it wasn't that kind of message.

Anyway, I said some things that were pretty blunt.

I was tired. Really tired. Sleep has been quite elusive this past week and its absence does take a toll. Did I also mention the whole brain injury = no internal editing problem? Well, yeah. Sometimes, you know, when I'm tired, or stressed or in pain, or the more usual combination of those three fates, my editing system seems to go off-line.

When I was younger, eh gads, that makes me sound old. Let's try again, before the accident, I hated confrontation. Frankly, it scared the heck out of me. Don't get me wrong, I'd do it if I had to, but it was a major effort. It cost me. I always felt like I was going to vomit right before, during and after, the terrifying act of saying something that might be perceived as offensive or challenging.

I know, those of you who knew me before and after will probably say, "Huh? What the hell is she talking about? Nothing bothered her. She was confident, she said what she wanted or needed to say."

Ahem. Well, appearances are deceiving.

I was bullied in school. A lot. I was the fat smart girl with glasses who went to Catholic school. (Think Mary Catharine Gallagher from SNL.) Yeah, that was me. Geektastic doesn't even cover it. And I figured out pretty early on that if someone is trying to get a reaction from you and you don't give it to them, they lose interest and go bully someone else. Believe me, it does work. The other piece to this puzzle is that my momma raised me to stand up for what I believe in. (Cue the patriotic/inspirational music, please.) This tended to make me feel that I needed to speak up, even though I was terrified, when an appropriately important issue arose.

So, there you have it. Me: terrified on the inside. Maybe not showing it so much on the outside. That lasted until March 07. Clearly shyness and social anxiety can be cured by a good slap upside the head.

(Ok, the social anxiety part is still there if I'm not in a heightened emotional state.) But the rest. The whole righteous indignation thing. Oh, man, I have GOT THAT DOWN now.

The joke in my family now is that, "I ain't got no qualms." As in, "I have no qualms about reporting this incident to the local constable." Or whatever. And it's true. Good lord is it true. If my old friends thought I didn't suffer fools gladly before, I don't suffer them at all now.

What I learned from those years of teaching was that a) subtlety is wasted on 98% of the world, b) stupidity is rampant in America and c) I just don't have time to spoon feed the people who are old enough to know better.

(My MIL is going to read this and think ALL of this is about her. It's not. Get that, it's not you. It's ME.)

(Cue Carly Simon music. "I bet you think this blog is about you. You're so..." Eh, nevermind.)

For example, there was that time at "the club" having breakfast with mi familia. We were in the process of ordering and there was some issue with bacon. Yes, BACON, which incidentally, makes everything better. The question was something like what's the difference between Eggs Benedict and Eggs Bernadette. Sounds like a bad joke, doesn't it? Well it had something to do with the meat. (That still sounds like a bad joke.) Anyway, Canadian Bacon came into play and our server, who, in her defense, was young, giggled and admitted she had no idea what Canadian Bacon was.

Really.

And I just couldn't let that go. I asked if she was serious because, really, she had to be joking, right? No. She had no idea. "Well it's just like bacon, from Canada, right?" At which point, I just sort of shook my head and looked at her across the table and said, "Oh, sweetie, if you're going to be serving brunch at a private club you need to know the difference between bacon and Canadian Bacon."

Years ago that wouldn't have happened. I would have waited until she walked away and THEN made the snarky comment. Today. I figure people deserve the respect of having me make the snarky comment right to their faces.

If I feel what I'm saying is true and justified, I have no fear. (This if you haven't already noticed is very dangerous because I always think I'm right and justified.) Sometimes it's good for the inside voice to stay inside my head.

Last night was one of those times. I'm not sure exactly what I said nor do I know if she took offense or not. I think MIL tends to bruise easily and I fear I might have played a bit rough, verbally that is. She'll die before saying anything to me about it, or C. Unless she writes me a letter. THAT she might do. I should probably write her a note first. It's just like a Jane Austin novel! Letter Wars 2010: The Comeuppance.

Eh. On the plus side, every time I mouth off to someone I can blame it on this terribly convenient head injury and begin preaching about the dangers of drunk driving. Maybe this isn't so bad after all.