Kevin Ansbro's Blog - Posts Tagged "misinterpretation"
Putting my foot in it
Anyone who really knows me will already be cognisant of the fact that I am prone to the most cringeworthy of social blunders.
In the progression of time, I have injudiciously congratulated rotund women on their pregnancies, I’ve ineptly guessed at ladies’ ages while in their presence, and once asked a chap if he and his daughter holidayed together often, only to be told that the lady was in fact his wife!
Indeed, putting one’s foot in one’s mouth is as natural to me as swimming is to a dolphin.
I am verily the Grand Master of Gaffes, the Maharajah of Misinterpretation, the Sultan of Solecism (you may wish to bow or curtsey at this point).
But, surpassing all others, my worst ever faux pas was THIS one...
(and it is a true story).
We bought our house twenty years ago (from a chap named George) and moved in the same week that my wife's granddad (also a George) died.
The house phone rang one morning. On the other end was an old lady. I didn't know any old ladies, other than my wife’s gran, so I took it to be her.
"Hell-o," I chirped.
"Who's that?" the old lady asked.
"It's Kevin," I breezed.
Her tone was confused: "Kevin?"
"Yes, Kevin. Julie's husband."
"Julie?"
(Oh bless, she's got herself in a right tizzy after losing her husband, thought I).
"Julie, your granddaughter."
"Well, where's my George?" she asked.
(Oh dear, she's evidently so consumed by grief that she's got herself in a complete muddle).
"Um, George isn't with us anymore, is he?" I said as tactfully as I could.
"Isn't with us?" she gasped, becoming yet more befuddled.
So I called upon my best soothing voice. "Yes, George, he’s ... um ... he's dead, remember?”
"DEAD? Ohhhhh ... oh, God, ohhhh ... he's dead?" she quavered, really losing it.
My wife stormed into the room and, putting me in mind of Sybil Fawlty, snatched the phone whilst simultaneously calling me an idiot (a bit uncalled for).
"I'm so sorry for my husband. How may I help you?"
"—Yes, as you know, your son has moved out of his house. We’re the new owners and you've dialled his old number. Fetch a pen and paper and I'll give you his new number..."
I very nearly gave the poor lady a heart attack.
What a twit!
: )
In the progression of time, I have injudiciously congratulated rotund women on their pregnancies, I’ve ineptly guessed at ladies’ ages while in their presence, and once asked a chap if he and his daughter holidayed together often, only to be told that the lady was in fact his wife!
Indeed, putting one’s foot in one’s mouth is as natural to me as swimming is to a dolphin.
I am verily the Grand Master of Gaffes, the Maharajah of Misinterpretation, the Sultan of Solecism (you may wish to bow or curtsey at this point).
But, surpassing all others, my worst ever faux pas was THIS one...
(and it is a true story).
We bought our house twenty years ago (from a chap named George) and moved in the same week that my wife's granddad (also a George) died.
The house phone rang one morning. On the other end was an old lady. I didn't know any old ladies, other than my wife’s gran, so I took it to be her.
"Hell-o," I chirped.
"Who's that?" the old lady asked.
"It's Kevin," I breezed.
Her tone was confused: "Kevin?"
"Yes, Kevin. Julie's husband."
"Julie?"
(Oh bless, she's got herself in a right tizzy after losing her husband, thought I).
"Julie, your granddaughter."
"Well, where's my George?" she asked.
(Oh dear, she's evidently so consumed by grief that she's got herself in a complete muddle).
"Um, George isn't with us anymore, is he?" I said as tactfully as I could.
"Isn't with us?" she gasped, becoming yet more befuddled.
So I called upon my best soothing voice. "Yes, George, he’s ... um ... he's dead, remember?”
"DEAD? Ohhhhh ... oh, God, ohhhh ... he's dead?" she quavered, really losing it.
My wife stormed into the room and, putting me in mind of Sybil Fawlty, snatched the phone whilst simultaneously calling me an idiot (a bit uncalled for).
"I'm so sorry for my husband. How may I help you?"
"—Yes, as you know, your son has moved out of his house. We’re the new owners and you've dialled his old number. Fetch a pen and paper and I'll give you his new number..."
I very nearly gave the poor lady a heart attack.
What a twit!
: )
