…because apparently I’m my own worst enemy.I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again, no one finds my jokes nearly as funny as I do.
I’m a pro at snide witticisms, tongue lashings and sharp comebacks. I sometimes forget that people (like my boss or my roommate, The Christitute) tend to take offense when it hits a little close to home or when it seems a little too pointed, and for that I’m sorry.
Two days ago at work, my boss told me I couldn’t go on break until 5, which I had forgotten because we had 6 people working almost all day, and I indifferently proclaimed ‘whatevs’, which for the record, is my standard response to pretty much everything – and has been since Grade 11. She in turn, took this to mean that I was being rude, and I tried to explain myself by making what in my mind were hilarious jokes, but in her mind was backtalking and further proof that I actually hate her, when in truth, I just don’t care.
Shortly after, TC and Ah-bby came by because I’m assuming they’d been shopping and as they were leaving I made a somewhat tasteless joke at TC’s expense, which I didn’t really realize she was mad about until this evening in the kitchen when I was rambling on about something and out of the blue she says ‘You know I’m mad at you right?’
Instant conversation halter. ‘Uh, what? Why?’ I’m stupefied, and slightly (ok, a lot) self-absorbed.
‘That comment you made as I was leaving…’
‘Ah, gotcha. Not funny, huh?’
‘Maybe if it was just our friends, but those girls at [your] work don’t know me…’
‘No one heard it’
‘Uh, they were giggling!’
Yet another example of how far down Gingerbread’s foot is embedded in her mouth.