You ever had one of those days — that turned into one of those weeks — where no matter what you did, no matter what you said or to whom you said it, it was just inexplicably wrong?
It has been one of those weeks for me.
The kind of week when simply saying “good morning” to a random stranger comes across as an affront that earns you a fierce scowl. Or you say, “what a beautiful day” and someone hears it as an insult to the night, which they indignantly inform you is their favourite time.
Or you think you’re encouraging someone with a hearty, “You go, girl!” and it’s taken as a directive to go straight to hell and not come back. Or you tell a co-worker her new shirt is a good colour for her and she sniffs and replies, “Oh, and I suppose that means all my other shirts are a poor choice?”
People don’t usually react like this. It’s as if the rules of polite behaviour have changed. And no one told me. Is this something we were supposed to set back along with the clocks a couple weeks ago?
Then there are the people to whom I’ve said, “Can’t talk. I’m writing.” Which used to be Just Fine and they’d mumble something vague about calling them later. It is now, apparently, considered to be a great insult. Don’t ask me why, I have no idea.
You know it’s bad when you can’t even get it right with the cat, when telling her she’s a “pretty kitty” results in her turning her back in regal displeasure before she stalks off in a stiff snit to hide for the next five hours.
It’s enough to make you want to hide away too and never speak to anyone again. But even that gets you into trouble. Just try not answering your phone for a couple days. Not that I did that or anything. I wouldn’t dare do that. Again.
Because you get terse emails, “Mom called me. You didn’t answer your phone. Now she’s worried. Call her.”
Or impatient text messages, “WTF? Mom R U there?”
And surly voice messages, “So. You’re just not going to return my call? I hope at least you’re writing.”
At this point, I’m almost afraid to write anything. I’m pretty sure it won’t turn out to mean what I think it means.
And I know — really, I just know — that even this blog post will offend someone. Most likely it will be the three people I have so far managed not to offend this past week. They’re going to come over here, read this, and say, “Well, I was not offended by you this week. What made you think I was? You always misinterpret everything. How can you say you’ve offended everyone? Am I not someone? Am I that insignificant to you?”
I’m telling you, it’s been that kind of week.
How was yours?