I’ve been messing up all day. I keep saying the wrong thing and offending people inadvertently.
I know why this is happening. Recently I did something that was, for me, quite pushy and insistent. In fact it was the most forward and least ladylike thing I’ve ever done and I was and am horrified at myself. I know this will mark my slow change into one of those brash, horse faced women who brays like a mule when she laughs and takes up too much space and makes priest-and-altar-boy jokes. This hoof-in-mouth disease is only the beginning. Ever since I sprouted to this ungainly height (in sixth grade) I’ve expended an enormous amount of concentration on projecting a graceful, ladylike, decorous image. I determined then that even though I take up acres of physical space, I would endeavor to convince those around me that I was Princess Grace. Up until now I think it was almost working, even though most of the time I feel like a pregnant sheep stumbling around blindly and bleating in everyone’s face. But reports from the front assure me that I am being received as silent and mysterious and that my walk, though not exactly Audrey Hepburn in Roman Holiday (my ideal), is nevertheless more sway than bray.
All of that is changing now, though. Now everything I say will be misconstrued. I will begin knocking over table lamps and stepping backwards onto small children. I tell you this now, so that you can be sure to stay well clear of my windmilling arms as I trip over my own bare feet.
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