It’s a standard joke ’round here that the first thing out of the mouth of a child who just did something ill-advised is “But I just—” I’m never sure where they think that’s going to take them; somehow that phrase is meant to be justification and yet, it never is. They do persist in using it, though.
Otto and I have adapted it as well, and it has more or less come to mean “Wow I did something dumb and inexcusable but by saying this phrase I shall communicate that I’m hoping you might not notice.” It is amusing to us.
[Note: Not quite as amusing as the still oft-used “Gorgonzola!”, but close.]
Anyway, I seem to be having an awful lot of “But I just—” in my own life, lately.
Here is but a partial list of things I may or may not have done recently that fall under the umbrella of “I should and probably do know better than this,” and yet, I persist.
Coloring my hair at home. Nothing good every comes of this. NOTHING. I’m all “it costs too much at the salon” and “maybe this time I’ll get it right” and you know what? It’s pretty expensive to have to keep buying different brands/and colors, desperately seeking on that will actually cover my gray, and no, actually, I will NEVER get it right, because I am pretty sure my gray hair is actually MAGICAL and impervious to mere mortal hair dyes.
Smelling the dog’s breath to see if she’s been eating deer poop. If I suspect the dog of eating deer poop, WHY OH WHY would I then attempt to smell it? On purpose, even? Particularly when my nose in the vicinity of her snout causes Licorice to believe I need a good sinus cleaning, if you know what I mean. (Based upon the collective gagging noises I just heard, I think you do.)
Baking bread for my family even though I can’t have wheat any more. Oh, I like the way it smells and it makes them happy and it sort of makes me feel like a nice person and everything, but invariably fresh bread on the table means Monkey doesn’t want to eat anything else, and that I end up feeling like a martyr even though no one held a gun to my head and forced me to start baking. (It’s possible I have issues. I’m aware.)
Saying anything at all to my tween daughter other than “I love you, honey.” Everything I say is mean and bad and wrong and cause for extreme pouting. And a bunch of stuff I DON’T say is because I am mean and bad and wrong. Um, basically, I am mean and bad and wrong, and I’m considering spending the next six years in the Witness Protection Program for my own safety. Just sayin’.
Never using a shopping list. I don’t know what my problem is with shopping lists. It’s not like they’re inherently offensive, or anything. But I cannot seem to get myself organized with one. Ever. I just go to the store and know what I need and maybe I take a kid or two and start out the trip with “DO NOT LET ME LEAVE THIS STORE WITHOUT KETCHUP” or whatever, and it all works out. Sort of. Except that the last four times I’ve been grocery shopping, I’ve forgotten something I meant to buy. And it’s slowly driving me insane. Though I do have plenty of ketchup.
Not exercising first thing in the morning because I’m too tired or too busy or Mercury is in retrograde. When I don’t get that exercising out of the way first thing, OF COURSE I’m less tired or busy later on in the day, right? Right? No? Oh.
Having that second cup of coffee. No, I like it when my heart beats really fast. It’s cardio for when I’m here at my desk. STOP LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT I’M FINE WHAT WAS THAT NOISE??
(But I just—oh, nevermind.)