You’re walking along.
It’s pouring rain.
You’re trying to negotiate the mudpuddles and you’re looking for the most advantageous spot to get across them.
You make the leap…
You’re covered in muddy water and now you have to show up at work looking like a slob
(and you have that presentation today to boot).
You feel embarassed.
And, uncomfortable–cause now you’re wet AND dirty.
You’re crusin’ down the boulevard engrossed in conversation–either with someone else or with the ongoing chatter in your head and you’re not paying attention.
Then it happens.
You step in dogshit.
Uh-huh. Yes it is…crap.
You’re at a party
And maybe you’ve had one-glass-of-wine-too-many—or maybe you’re just a flaming A-hole–
(I doubt it).
And then you make an inappropriate comment in the conversation and you suddenly realize you’ve crossed a line.
Your wearing mud (red tinted from shame mixed with embarassment) all over your face.
Now…here’s the good news…
EVERYONE steps in mudpuddles.
EVERYONE has encountered dog doodoo on their shoes.
EVERYONE has experienced a bout of foot-in-mouth-disease a time or two.
In other words, you are a Human.
Remember when you used to play in muddy water?
You’d splash the Hell out of it .
You’d jump for joy, in fact, for the chance to jump in those mudpuddles.
You didn’t care.
And, the dog shit?
I know it stinks, but…
Hey, no big deal.
That’s what grass is for.
That’s also what mudpuddles are for.
You wipe and rinse.
Then your friend laughs at you. You tell them to shut up, then they laugh some more…hah hah.. and pretty soon you’re laughing yourself.
Here’s the tough one.
The foot-in-mouth one.
Like the puddle and the poo, it’s over and done with
No hiding and no turning back.
Except the poo in not on you. Now it’s on somebody else.
Best to admit your faux pas AND apologize.
That’s all you can do.
And, whether or not they were hurt, offended or angry, you still need to apologize.
Just do it.
“I was an ass, I’m sorry. My mistake. What a stupid thing to say,” are some suggestions…
If you need them.
Hey! Nobody’s perfect.
If you’re a perfectionist-like me-you expect everyone and everything to be perfect.
And, of course, YOU have to be the MOST perfect.
And, in the bigger picture, whose going to remember those muddy stockings, anyway?
Also, while you’re busy being soooo perfect, you’re missing the fUn of…
splashing in the mudpuddles,
singing in the rain,
laughing at yourself for stepping in the caca.
You were a kid once.
That kid is still inside you-
Let him/her out.
PLAY FULL OUT.
(And, don’t be an A-hole.)
They’re no fun.