I hope you have read Faux Pas Un, because the main characters are the same. This is also a faux pas for the family books, and it happened before the Caroline/Catherine debacle.
Cousin Primrose was getting married at the local club. I will let your imagination wander through the different types of clubs that it could have been - hunting, gentlemen's, tennis, yacht, gardening - all that matters is that it was fancy. I was 7 months pregnant and not feeling very fancy at all.
It was difficult to find something in my maternity wardrobe that was club-worthy, but in the end I found something that I thought would do. I tried to make myself look more elegant by wearing heels, but I think the pink rain slicker counteracted all efforts in that direction. In any case, I had the wrapped present, I was dressed to the... well, maybe fives, and on my way to a party.
The only problem was that I could not for the life of me remember the name of Primrose's groom. I had a nice wedding card but I could not allow myself to put the card in an unmarked envelope. I called my sister-in-law (if you read Faux Pas Un, you should now have a sense of foreshadowing) to ask her the name of Primrose's beloved. She confidently answered with "Brett". I gratefully thanked her and prepared the card, writing with my best flourish, "PRIMROSE AND BRETT" on the outside of the envelope. I slid the envelope under the ribbon of the present and secured it with tape. I am always quite fastidious when it comes to gifts at an event like that, one doesn't want one's gift to separate from the card.
The parking lot was quite full when I arrived. After parking, I limped across the lot in my heels, lugging the present close to my big, heavy stomach. Slowly climbing the front stairs, I spied the gift table. I waddled to the table and was about to leave the present with the others when I noticed what the other cards said: "PRIMROSE AND BRAD".
Gasping, I put my hand over the writing on my envelope. I furtively looked to both sides and was relieved that there was nobody else in the entry way. I tore open the envelope and yanked out the card. Inside, above the congratulatory statement, I wrote (and now I hope it was the same color ink), "Primrose and Brad". I crumpled up the offending envelope and stuffed it in my small purse. I looked around again and I was still alone. As I had ruined the wrap job when I had grabbed at the envelope, I had to rip off the wrapping paper. I prayed no one would come up the stairs and find me opening the wedding gifts. I could imagine the spectacle of a pregnant woman being hauled off by the police for robbing the wedding. Luckily my gift was a picnic basket, into which I could discreetly hide the naked card. I'm not sure now what I did with the expanse of wrapping paper, I have a faint recollection of wadding it up and hiding it under the table.
I staggered away from the gift table before anyone discovered my gaucherie, wishing I hadn't worn heels or a pink slicker, hoping that nobody had spotted me lurking around the table, and most of all, yearning to be at home.
FAUX PAS DEUX
This one goes back a long time but it still makes me chuckle. It can happen to any one of us, so you should not be shaking your head and tsking while you read this.
Suzy Q was a counselor at the high school. She was responsible for the guidance of students whose last names were in a certain half of the alphabet. There was a family in that half of the alphabet who had suffered a terrible loss while one of its students, Jasper, was in the high school, and because of that, the parent often took advantage of the services of the counselor.
Jasper, the polar opposite of his parent, was nondescript and uncommunicative. Thick, smudgy glasses and long, shaggy hair in his face protected him from having to engage in a conversation with anyone else. Some visits by Jasper's parent were probably valid concerns regarding Jasper's performance in school, or Jasper's attitude toward life, or Jasper's potential, while others were more for the benefit of the parent. Perhaps the parent was lamenting about the ambitions (or lack thereof) of the spouse, or the parent's inability to cope with the loss, or the general frustrations of life. Suzy Q always had an open door, a kind heart and a smile, and would not have turned away Jasper's parent, no matter what the topic was.
One day Jasper's parent showed up, and as always, had one of the brood in tow. They went into Suzy Q's office and closed the door. The parent proceeded to spout forth dismays and disappointments regarding Jasper's scholastic progress. The conversation was very one sided, but finally Suzy Q was able to get in a word. She turned to the student in the chair next to the parent and said, "Well, now you've heard it - what do you think, Jasper?" The student stared at Suzy Q through the thick glasses and the mop of hair that hung in front of them. "That's Jasmine!", the parent said curtly, "Jasper's sister!"
Reader, you are thinking that things could not have gone much worse for Suzy Q. It's hard to know for whom to feel more embarrassed, Suzy Q or Jasper. Be thankful that he doesn't know that his guidance counselor confused him with his developmentally disabled younger sister that morning. Be relieved that Suzy Q could charm her way out of the most awkward situations. Beware that this could happen to you when you least expect it.
Suzy Q was a counselor at the high school. She was responsible for the guidance of students whose last names were in a certain half of the alphabet. There was a family in that half of the alphabet who had suffered a terrible loss while one of its students, Jasper, was in the high school, and because of that, the parent often took advantage of the services of the counselor.
Jasper, the polar opposite of his parent, was nondescript and uncommunicative. Thick, smudgy glasses and long, shaggy hair in his face protected him from having to engage in a conversation with anyone else. Some visits by Jasper's parent were probably valid concerns regarding Jasper's performance in school, or Jasper's attitude toward life, or Jasper's potential, while others were more for the benefit of the parent. Perhaps the parent was lamenting about the ambitions (or lack thereof) of the spouse, or the parent's inability to cope with the loss, or the general frustrations of life. Suzy Q always had an open door, a kind heart and a smile, and would not have turned away Jasper's parent, no matter what the topic was.
One day Jasper's parent showed up, and as always, had one of the brood in tow. They went into Suzy Q's office and closed the door. The parent proceeded to spout forth dismays and disappointments regarding Jasper's scholastic progress. The conversation was very one sided, but finally Suzy Q was able to get in a word. She turned to the student in the chair next to the parent and said, "Well, now you've heard it - what do you think, Jasper?" The student stared at Suzy Q through the thick glasses and the mop of hair that hung in front of them. "That's Jasmine!", the parent said curtly, "Jasper's sister!"
Reader, you are thinking that things could not have gone much worse for Suzy Q. It's hard to know for whom to feel more embarrassed, Suzy Q or Jasper. Be thankful that he doesn't know that his guidance counselor confused him with his developmentally disabled younger sister that morning. Be relieved that Suzy Q could charm her way out of the most awkward situations. Beware that this could happen to you when you least expect it.
FAUX PAS UN
We have all done it, committed the "false step", or violation of social norms. Some people stumble more than others, but the end result is always the same: the violator has an overwhelming desire to dive into the depths of the earth. I committed one of the unforgettable faux pas in our family soon after my daughter was born.
My baby was a screamer. There were several inciting circumstances, but the bottom line was that she hollered from morning until night. Relief from the din was achieved only by holding her from dawn until dusk. As wonderful as that bonding experience was, it was tiring in itself, and I welcomed respite whenever it made itself available.
After a few months, we attended a large family gathering. Relatives from far and wide had come to visit and there were many that I had not met before. One woman came out of the crowd bearing gifts: she had embroidered some things for the baby's layette. They were beautiful and dainty, and it was clear that this was her specialty. She had several to choose from and it was difficult to settle upon just one. I thanked her profusely, feeling guilty that I did not know her name. Then she wanted to hold the bairn. I felt guilty handing over a bullhorn to an innocent bystander, but she insisted on taking the baby. Miraculously, the baby didn't utter a peep. She snuggled down into the woman's shoulder, the woman smiled contentedly and wandered off to find a quiet place to sit.
My eyes darted frantically around and settled on my sister-in-law. "What is that lady's name?", I hissed at her. She followed my pointed look and frowned. "Caroline", she said. I should have noticed the hesitation in her voice.
Caroline turned out to be the Baby Whisperer of the family. She could charm any devil child into a soft, cuddly angel baby, and she was proud of it. She was perfectly content to sit and snuggle my tyke while I chatted with guests, ate, drank, and nearly forgot that I even was a mother. I only remembered when people gave me a startled look and asked, "Where's the baby?" I happily pointed out Caroline, sitting in the corner with the snoozing infant. I raved about Caroline to anyone who asked; what wonderful baby taming skills she had, what a way with babies she had, what beautiful creations she had embroidered. I couldn't say enough about Caroline and her talents. I made a point to say her name over and over so it wouldn't blend in with all of the other new names I was learning.
The evening ended too soon, in my opinion, and the guests were saying their goodbyes. Caroline gave my daughter back to me and once again I praised her talents to all who would listen. I thanked her profusely for giving me a break to socialize with the family. Over the crowd I saw my mom and I hastily waved her over to introduce her to Caroline. "Mom", I began, "this is who has been guarding the baby all night, and she is the reason why we haven't heard her screaming! This is Caroline!" Caroline looked at me and said in a curt monotone, "It's Catherine."
I think you can imagine how small I felt at that moment. My happy bubble of being at a party without having another entity about whom to worry seemed to pop loudly around my own sorry being. I could almost feel it running down my face. To this day I have trouble remembering if her name is Caroline or Catherine.
My baby was a screamer. There were several inciting circumstances, but the bottom line was that she hollered from morning until night. Relief from the din was achieved only by holding her from dawn until dusk. As wonderful as that bonding experience was, it was tiring in itself, and I welcomed respite whenever it made itself available.
After a few months, we attended a large family gathering. Relatives from far and wide had come to visit and there were many that I had not met before. One woman came out of the crowd bearing gifts: she had embroidered some things for the baby's layette. They were beautiful and dainty, and it was clear that this was her specialty. She had several to choose from and it was difficult to settle upon just one. I thanked her profusely, feeling guilty that I did not know her name. Then she wanted to hold the bairn. I felt guilty handing over a bullhorn to an innocent bystander, but she insisted on taking the baby. Miraculously, the baby didn't utter a peep. She snuggled down into the woman's shoulder, the woman smiled contentedly and wandered off to find a quiet place to sit.
My eyes darted frantically around and settled on my sister-in-law. "What is that lady's name?", I hissed at her. She followed my pointed look and frowned. "Caroline", she said. I should have noticed the hesitation in her voice.
Caroline turned out to be the Baby Whisperer of the family. She could charm any devil child into a soft, cuddly angel baby, and she was proud of it. She was perfectly content to sit and snuggle my tyke while I chatted with guests, ate, drank, and nearly forgot that I even was a mother. I only remembered when people gave me a startled look and asked, "Where's the baby?" I happily pointed out Caroline, sitting in the corner with the snoozing infant. I raved about Caroline to anyone who asked; what wonderful baby taming skills she had, what a way with babies she had, what beautiful creations she had embroidered. I couldn't say enough about Caroline and her talents. I made a point to say her name over and over so it wouldn't blend in with all of the other new names I was learning.
The evening ended too soon, in my opinion, and the guests were saying their goodbyes. Caroline gave my daughter back to me and once again I praised her talents to all who would listen. I thanked her profusely for giving me a break to socialize with the family. Over the crowd I saw my mom and I hastily waved her over to introduce her to Caroline. "Mom", I began, "this is who has been guarding the baby all night, and she is the reason why we haven't heard her screaming! This is Caroline!" Caroline looked at me and said in a curt monotone, "It's Catherine."
I think you can imagine how small I felt at that moment. My happy bubble of being at a party without having another entity about whom to worry seemed to pop loudly around my own sorry being. I could almost feel it running down my face. To this day I have trouble remembering if her name is Caroline or Catherine.
I CAN'T MAKE THIS STUFF UP!
I haven't decided whether to dedicate this post to Edward A. Murphy, of Murphy's Law fame, or Norris and Ross McWhirter, twins who compiled the first Guinness Book of World Records. I will leave it to you, Allegiant Reader, to call that shot.
Last Thursday, my second grader had an appointment with our Family Veterinarian. She is in the family, and attends to the medical needs of our pets - I tell you this in case you worry that our health is supervised by an animal doctor. Sofie wanted to interview our Family Veterinarian for a project about community members and their responsibilities.
As luck would have it, on the day before our appointment, we noticed that not one, but both of our scaredy cats had noticeable medical issues. It was as if they knew we were going to the vet and were clamoring for any sort of attention. One was hobbling about on three legs, her front paw in the air, desperately going for the sympathy vote, while the other repeatedly would tip her nose in the air and proceed to do something between a cough and a sneeze. I realize I am not describing this well, but if you actually try to do it yourself, you will achieve some semblance of understanding. Anyway, I knew that it was not appropriate to drag our yowling cats with us to the interview and say, "By the way, while you are answering these questions, could you give these two a once over?"
Our interview was a blazing success, both on Sofie's part as well as mine, for I secured a Saturday appointment. You know how that goes: you explain to the receptionist that you are sure that your pets are dying because they are behaving so strangely, and you must see the doctor just as soon as possible, yet when you take them in.... yes, I know you know what happens next. That is exactly how it went down.
Saturday came along and I was lucky enough to catch both cats without a hitch. Wheezing Simone was the first to be checked by the doctor. She had good eyes, ears, internal goings-on, even good flea control, but no coughing or sneezing. Her only downfall was poor dental hygiene. We decided that maybe a sore tooth was the source of that strange carrying on (that of course wasn't happening in the doctor's office). Teeny was second on the table and also came up looking pretty good, besides having poor eyesight. Her limp turned out to be because of a defensive wound on the bottom of her paw. But she is not the star of today's story.
Simone's condition dictated that she have some dental work done. A few days later when I called to see how her procedure went, I said, "Hello, I am calling about my cat, Simone, who had some teeth removed," and before I could finish my sentence, the receptionist added, "and a blade of grass!" I was caught off guard and couldn't think of much to say. "She had that removed, too?" I asked stupidly. "Yes, from her nose!", she stated. I was pretty sure I didn't understand her correctly and I probably had to ask her to repeat it several times. She assured me that Simone was fine, and that they had saved the blade for me. Sure enough, when I got to the clinic, they had a blade of grass that was more than two inches long, beautifully displayed on a piece of gauze. Looking at that grass and then looking at the size of Simone's head is astonishing in the real sense of the word. Where was that grass when it was up her nostril? How did it get there? Why didn't it come out sooner? You probably have as many questions as I do.
The technician told me that the day before, they were doing some preliminary work on the cat and discussed the fact that she appeared to have a "booger". I think that is a technical term. Then, while they were working on her the next day, they commented that the offending "booger" was still there. She prodded it with one of the dental tools, and it didn't do anything, so she grabbed a pair of tweezers. Can you imagine what that would be like, pulling that big long blade of grass out of the cat's nostril?
In our family, there are several things that have gained notoriety over the years. The Big Wheatie, the Identical Bee Stings, the Bad Gilr (sic), the Girl in Paris, and now, the Blade of Grass.
You be the judge: to whom should I dedicate this post?
Last Thursday, my second grader had an appointment with our Family Veterinarian. She is in the family, and attends to the medical needs of our pets - I tell you this in case you worry that our health is supervised by an animal doctor. Sofie wanted to interview our Family Veterinarian for a project about community members and their responsibilities.
As luck would have it, on the day before our appointment, we noticed that not one, but both of our scaredy cats had noticeable medical issues. It was as if they knew we were going to the vet and were clamoring for any sort of attention. One was hobbling about on three legs, her front paw in the air, desperately going for the sympathy vote, while the other repeatedly would tip her nose in the air and proceed to do something between a cough and a sneeze. I realize I am not describing this well, but if you actually try to do it yourself, you will achieve some semblance of understanding. Anyway, I knew that it was not appropriate to drag our yowling cats with us to the interview and say, "By the way, while you are answering these questions, could you give these two a once over?"
Our interview was a blazing success, both on Sofie's part as well as mine, for I secured a Saturday appointment. You know how that goes: you explain to the receptionist that you are sure that your pets are dying because they are behaving so strangely, and you must see the doctor just as soon as possible, yet when you take them in.... yes, I know you know what happens next. That is exactly how it went down.
Saturday came along and I was lucky enough to catch both cats without a hitch. Wheezing Simone was the first to be checked by the doctor. She had good eyes, ears, internal goings-on, even good flea control, but no coughing or sneezing. Her only downfall was poor dental hygiene. We decided that maybe a sore tooth was the source of that strange carrying on (that of course wasn't happening in the doctor's office). Teeny was second on the table and also came up looking pretty good, besides having poor eyesight. Her limp turned out to be because of a defensive wound on the bottom of her paw. But she is not the star of today's story.
Simone's condition dictated that she have some dental work done. A few days later when I called to see how her procedure went, I said, "Hello, I am calling about my cat, Simone, who had some teeth removed," and before I could finish my sentence, the receptionist added, "and a blade of grass!" I was caught off guard and couldn't think of much to say. "She had that removed, too?" I asked stupidly. "Yes, from her nose!", she stated. I was pretty sure I didn't understand her correctly and I probably had to ask her to repeat it several times. She assured me that Simone was fine, and that they had saved the blade for me. Sure enough, when I got to the clinic, they had a blade of grass that was more than two inches long, beautifully displayed on a piece of gauze. Looking at that grass and then looking at the size of Simone's head is astonishing in the real sense of the word. Where was that grass when it was up her nostril? How did it get there? Why didn't it come out sooner? You probably have as many questions as I do.
The technician told me that the day before, they were doing some preliminary work on the cat and discussed the fact that she appeared to have a "booger". I think that is a technical term. Then, while they were working on her the next day, they commented that the offending "booger" was still there. She prodded it with one of the dental tools, and it didn't do anything, so she grabbed a pair of tweezers. Can you imagine what that would be like, pulling that big long blade of grass out of the cat's nostril?
In our family, there are several things that have gained notoriety over the years. The Big Wheatie, the Identical Bee Stings, the Bad Gilr (sic), the Girl in Paris, and now, the Blade of Grass.
 |
| The famous Blade of Grass |
You be the judge: to whom should I dedicate this post?
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