Foot & Mouth Disease

Or, perhaps it's podia-dentitis...

Or is it Hoof & Mouth?

Well, whatever you want to call it, I suffer from it.

Take my daughters softball game, for instance.

The very softball game that we went to tonight, that I did NOT take any pictures of. Nope. Not one single picture of my gal running over home plate, not once but TWICE...I did not bring my camera with me, because, clearly I only carry a camera for blogs, and I never planned to get an idea for a blog at her game...

But then IT happened. I made a fool of myself.

I know, you are all in utter bewilderment how such a thing could happen. Well, let me assure you that it is all Studmuffin's fault.

You see, last night, Bookworm had a softball game. At this game while she was up to bat, the umpire got screwed up on her count.

Majorly screwed up...

As in, when she had 2 balls, then got a strike, he called her out.

So, Studmuffin, the super shy guy that he is, went over to the scorekeeper, who happened to be sitting behind the ump, and asked, "Hey, what was the count when my daughter was up to bat?" In a very audible voice if you get my meaning...

Then, the ump was not calling what the pitches were, so we had no idea if it was a ball or a strike...

So, again, Studmuffin said in a very subdued and quiet voice, "WHAT'S THE COUNT???"

The ump's response? He started looking in our direction after each pitch, and calling the pitch in a loud voice, complete with hand signal. Good news, just so we could know what was goin' on and all...

So. On to my footinmouthitis.

My new BFF Amanda, who I met for the first time in my life last night, who has a daughter on Bookworm's softball team and I were talking.

Because that is why we will be BFFs. Because she talks.

A lot.

And she laughs....Correction. She cackles. Frequently. And loudly.

Be still my beating heart we are soul mates.

And she's a nurse.

And, get this, she is fair complected.

In short, she is me...

Except shorter with naturally red hair...

Anyhoo, returning to my podiadental disease, we were recounting the tale of my shy husband calling the ump on his stuff at last nights game, and I decided to mock him at tonight's game..."WHAT'S THE COUNT?" I said in an unfortunately exuberant voice.

When our batter was up.

The whole world went quiet. Everything went into slow motion, the ump turned and looked dead in my eye, and I realized how loud I was being with my new loudmouth, laughing BFF...

"OhmygoshI'msosorryIwasn'ttalkingtoyou...." I started to ramble out an apology.

Mortification...

(Okay, that word by itself does not express my expression of it. In my mind I'm typing/singing it to the tune of Cinderella when the blue birds are waking her up...You know in their little bird tweets, you know they are saying "Cinderella! Cinderella, wake up!" That's how mortification is meant here. Got the idea? Good, because I'd hate to beat this topic to death.)

So, the problem with my chronic motor mouth is that it has lead to lots of apologies. I've gotten really good at it. The second the game was over, I was tracking that umpire down, so I could apologize, and explain in a very long, and rambling way, that in no way shape or form was I unhappy with his calling in today's game, he did a fantabulous job, but I was mocking my husband's behavior at a different game, and that is why you shouldn't mock people, but it's really his fault, because he used to pretend to be shy, but now he obviously isn't, and he was so nice he even asked before he kissed me the first time, but I've always struggled with impulsiveness, and in fact I grabbed his head and yanked it down for a real kiss on our first date, even though I wasn't that kind of girl, but what I'm really trying to say here is that I'm totally sorry that I yelled at him even though I wasn't yelling at him.

And he got a kind of glazed look in his eyes.

And then he said, "Oh. That's okay. I never even heard you say anything."

And then I said, "Oh. Well, that's great. Have a nice evening!"

And I skipped back to my family, relieved to have gotten that off of my chest.