I am the queen of inserting my foot in my mouth. Perhaps the best example occurred when I was 12 years old. My friend’s mother was pregnant with her little sister. One night at dinner, the family was sharing suggestions for naming their new little girl. “How about Gladys?” my friend’s father suggested.
“Gladys?” I said. “You can’t name the baby Gladys. That sounds like a cow’s name!”
“That’s my mother’s name,” he replied.
At first I didn’t believe him, but then I recognized the embarrassing truth: Open mouth, insert foot.
I will put my foot in my mouth again tomorrow as I reap the consequences of a comment I made 10 years ago as a naive college student. My friends and I were discussing different ages and stages in life. I made the offhand suggestion that by age 25, I would consider myself old. By 30, I expected to be wise.
I will reach that age of alleged wisdom tomorrow when my birthday and Mardi Gras collide. Other wise ones in my life have had different responses to this new decade. One of my friends was depressed for months after she turned 30. My cousin, however, felt she commanded more respect at 30 than she did at 29.
I imagine experiencing some combination of all those -- a dash of wisdom, a shadow of age-related depression, the hope of greater respect. And of course, plenty more opportunities to insert foot in mouth.
Let the good times roll!