Mr. Jolly, my enabler

I have a speech impediment known as Severe Blurtitis: I just told someone who is both quite classy and the head of a major company that he was having a "good butt day."

And then I threw myself down a well.

This was not as bad as the business dinner where I announced brightly to all and sundry at the table that Miley Cyrus' concept of a teen-based "Sex And The City" could be called "Dry Humping And The City."

After which I stuck a fish fork in my eye. Carry on!

I blame Mr. Jolly. He was my first or second grade teacher (it's a blur - I was still on the pipe then), and he used to sit at his desk and cup one hand in front of his face so that you could not see precisely how he was, with his other hand, picking his nose.

But I digress.

I was tall and nervous and fairly disliked for being both tall and nervous. I also drew attention to my mild, but pervasive unlikeability - I cleared my throat a lot, because I was tall and because I was nervous. And because I was disliked. You see the problem. Some clever tow-haired boy shouted in class that he wouldn't "stand for" the upcoming pop quiz and I muttered, "Then sit down." Somehow I said it in a louder tone than my usual passive-aggressive whisper; Mr. Jolly barked out a laugh and yelled, "Who said that?" with his face open and bright. I still remember that.

The bastard's been getting me in trouble ever since.