How not to commit social suicide: Lisa Scott has some advice.
While I may appear to be the very model of manners, I do on occasion suffer from a form of social Tourette's and make the odd garrulous gaffe.
The economist calls these "fox paws", because he thinks this is funny and is always the first to say, "remember that time you . . ."
Hilarious.
It may surprise you to hear that this condition worsens with the addition of alcohol.
There have been occasions when, despite my best endeavours, I have insulted people and while my mother always says, "If you can't say anything witheringly sarcastic, don't say anything at all", I prefer to insult folks when I really mean to, rather than just haphazardly flinging clangers around.
If there's medication for this, I haven't yet discovered it.
Here's a what-not-to-do guide for when keeping your mouth shut wasn't your first resort.
"And are you here with your beautiful niece?"
Yes indeed, the ugly old man/beautiful young woman pairing.
So unfair, as the truth about these relationships is very hard to spot.
Firstly, because they are usually illegitimate (not sanctioned by the gentleman's wife) there isn't the usual hand holding, legs-touching body language to give you a clue.
Secondly, if they are legit, a woman would never consider that bald fat Joe who owns a plumbing chain could ever interest blonde Sharon who is all of 12 (mentally) in his S-bend.
However, any man would smell the waft of Joe's alpha male pride and tumble them in an instant.
Those sandwiches look like leftovers
If, coming into work with a terrible hangover, for some reason unable to secure a pie, instead finding what looks like well-wrapped leftovers in the theatre fridge, do not: a) eat as many as it takes to line your stomach with something other than ethyl alcohol (quite a lot); b) walk around the building handing them out to the crew painting the scenery; c) go out on to the street and offer them to attractive tradesmen driving past in white vans who look hungry.
When the three stale-looking ham and cheese that nobody wanted, their modesty covered by a tired sprig of parsley, are returned to the fridge and it is later discovered that the sandwiches for the opening night supper have been eaten by persons unknown, whatever you do, do not shriek with hysterical laughter, smiling wide enough to reveal your egg sandwich-encrusted molars.
Have some respect.
Emailing the partner's exMonths after I began dating the economist it occurred to me that he was still married in a court-of-law way.
This isn't that surprising, actually (not that he was married, but that I hadn't stopped talking about myself long enough to learn much of his history).
Always a friendly girl, I thought I'd send an email to his soon-to-be ex-wife.
"Hyeee!" I wrote.
"Just thought we should get acquainted as I'm living in your old house with all your stuff."
"Eff off, you parvenue," she replied.
After I'd looked up parvenue in the dictionary and realised it was an insult, I burst into tears.
Moral: avoid the Ex-Hex and let sleeping dogs lie.
Lisa Scott is a Dunedin writer.
