I am not only injurious to the well being of others, but I really think I should be locked up and let out only when there is no other remotely human contact around. It's not the things I say and do, that can be forgiven, but it's my constant foot-in-mouth that irritates the hell out of my close contacts.
Like yesterday. I had called home over a scratchy STD connection. I firmly believe that the more times i bellow "hello...? hello...? hello...?" the more unlikely it is for the line to be connected.
I also believe that the telephone operator softly chuckles into the line while he crosses connections and blanks out parts of an ongoing call to wreck my happiness.
So as I was explaining to my family members in great details how to get rid of "the old hag, who overstayed its welcome," referring to a forlorn flea-bitten mongrel that has come to live under the pump house, an elderly relative who had come to stay at our place picks up the extension, unknown to me.
"I'm telling you, they never go on their own. They just eat, eat and eat and will deplete your summer ration and want to stay more if you show kindness...." I rant on.
I hear sharp breathing on the line and ignore it as electronic disruption.
"I'm not suggesting extreme measures like snuffing it (breathing deepens) out but I'm telling you, and mark my word she'll give you diseases (indignant, complete, frigid silence) and will get fat and soon will want to get in others."
I don't know what happened at the other end as soon as I kept the phone down. But my mobile rings in 10 mins and grandma Ira's choked voice made me abandon the "Pope will send text messages to youngsters to spread word of God" copy I was idly looking through.
"ALL MY LIFE....ALL MY LIFE, I HAVE GIVEN TO YOU NOTHING BUT KINDNESS," comes out through obviously gritted teeth.
"If I had not picked up the phone from my room I would have stayed under the illusion that your family wants me and loves me." Holy mother of God!!!
Do not misunderstand my consternation as remorse or panic or righteous indignation. Grandma Ira is like putty in my hands. It's the thought of my mother's towering frame and the image of her slowly wringing my neck for causing emotional trauma to her aunt, that did me in.
So I explain circumstances to her and stammer through the necessary apology. That it was the dog under the staircase I was talking about that left a pile of dog crap every morning.
"Ohhhhhh.... that? I'm afraid I misunderstood." You're telling me?
"Yes I told your father a day ago that he should kick that bitch out." She firmly declares.