Yes, I actually said that to someone, out loud, in public, without shame.  My husband and I were standing by the meat case in Scott’s, chatting with his boss’s wife about chicken breasts.  She mentioned that she prefers to buy the chicken strips since she has small children and chicken breasts tend to be too large for them.  My husband agreed with her, but said that he likes to make Chicken Marsala with breasts.  So, he pounds them flat.  That’s when I blurted out, “My husband pounds his meat in the kitchen.”

I instantly knew that I had made her uncomfortable, as I do this regularly. I don’t regularly make HER uncomfortable, just people in general.  So, she made her way down an aisle, and my husband and I giggled like adolescents next to the meat case.  We laughed about it the rest of the day.

Some people tell me that I have no filter.  I think it goes further than that.  I think that a small part of my brain is controlled by some sort of mischievous hybrid creature, part Sophia from the Golden Girls and part 15 year-old boy.  This part of the brain takes over suddenly, and throws out some socially awkward, embarrassing statement.  Then, it sits back and laughs while I stand there with “Did I say that out loud?” going through my head.  I can share a couple of examples with you.

A few years ago, my husband and I hosted an impromptu cocktail party at our house.  Some acquaintances were over, drinking and chatting. Things were going well until one of them, an awkward and really strange woman, insulted me.  I don’t remember what she said exactly, but it involved what she imagined my sexual preferences to be. So, I said, “Well, at least I can still sit on bar stools.”  Let me explain.  This woman had given birth to five children, naturally.  Think about it.  Judging by her husband’s face when I said it, he got it.  Instantly.

Last year, a beautiful orange cat came into our yard, and decided to come into our house.  Our neighbor thought he might belong to a lady (I only use this word because b#i#h is not an appropriate word for a blog.) down the street.  So, I went down the street and rang her doorbell that morning.  Here is the conversation:

Me:  Is your cat missing?  I found an orange cat, and he’s in my bathroom right now.

“Lady”:  I don’t know.  He’s not home yet.

Me: What do you mean?

“Lady”: He likes to stay outside all night.

Me: I can’t believe you would just leave a cat out all night.  That’s not safe.

“Lady”:  Well, I take him to the vet, and he gets his shots.

Me: Does your vet also make him his own little suit of armor to protect him from being crushed by a car or eaten by another animal?

At this point, two things happened. She looked like she was going to hit me, and her orange cat walked up to the porch.  At which point she said, “That’s my cat. Is this the cat that is in your bathroom?” 

I wanted to reply with, “Yes. He is astrally projecting himself so you can save him.”  I didn’t. I just said, “no,” and walked away.  See. Sometimes I have a filter. 

Morris is sitting right next to me, and he has not been outside since he first came into our yard.  He does not own a suit of armor, or have a need for one.