Open Mouth...

When Le was in school for massage therapy she would always come home sharing something new she had learned in her classes. One evening she shared, “Most people have three finger mouths.” I looked at her, unsure of what she meant. She explained to me that most people can fit three fingers (on their side) in their mouth and that is generally as wide as their mouth can open.

I looked at her and said, “Oh, mine is much larger. I fit my foot in it all the time.”

I am notorious for saying the wrong thing at the wrong time. And unfortunately many times this has involved guys names… no never at that time… but I have yet to meet a guy that appreciates being called, at anytime, by another guys name.

The first time I had this encounter was about six years ago (Jesus, time flies). T and I were no longer seeing on another but he had “full time custody” of our dog. He made this ridiculous rule that he had to be with me if I was to take the dog out. Ridiculous, yet I had to adhere to it if I was to ever see my beloved poochie.

At this time I had already begun seeing another guy, Mike (I have to use his real name, lest this story not work). T thought I might be seeing someone, but I never confirmed it with him. We had gone down to the Waterfront park and I was playing fetch with the dog when T intervened and started wrestling with and giving the dog a hard time. I got irritated with T and yelled, “Mike!”

T immediately looked at me, “What?”

I quickly replied, “MykGod, leave the dog alone!” He cocked his head, looking at me oddly for a moment, and then returned his attention to the dog. Whew… (I was actually quite proud of myself for the quick thinking.)


One night, just over a year ago, I met a guy in a bar (oh, how many tales of love start this way...). Bringing me a drink from the bartender he leaned in and said some sarcastic comment, trying to be funny. I looked at him and exclaimed, “Da Bod!”

He looked at me and said who is “Da Bod?” I think I may have denied ever saying his name, but we both knew better.

I told Da Bod the following day what had happened. He laughed and said, “I like that that happens.” Whatever.

Last week Da Bod came over to my house, prior to us leaving for dinner. He wanted wine and I said I didn’t have any for him. He grabbed one of my roommate’s bottles and I told him not to. He continued to get a glass out and grab the bottle to pour. I looked at him and said, “EB!” Da Bod looked at me and responded, “That’s the first time that has happened.” I suppose nothing reaffirms to a guy that you are over him more than calling him by another guy’s name.


My affinity for foot-in-mouth syndrome is not limited to the wrong-name-calling.

I know I am not the only one who this has happened to. Why do the words, “I love you” want to jump from ones mouth while drowning in the depths of passion? I have stopped myself too many times from have those “awkward moment creating words” from pouring forth out of my mouth… I have revised it so it is more of a casual, “God, I love… this!”

I am not even a super “lovey” type of girl… after we are done, I will generally retire to my side of the bed and you can have yours. I can’t breathe with you trying to cuddle all over me. How do you expect me to sleep? So when these words want to pour forth from my mouth, I have no idea as to where they are coming from.

Towards the beginning when I was with The Man, I had one such moment. “I love you..." I immediately followed that with, “Oh My God. I didn’t mean that!”

Yes, my foot actually fits quite easily in this mouth o’ mine.