I am the first person to admit I am a social moron. I hide from social activities for that purpose. I don't know what comes over me, but I almost can't act right in public so I avoid it altogether. I remember reading somewhere that kids who were super smart academically were usually lacking in social skills, and I, having gone to special schools for smart kids, fit that description neatly. You can almost picture us brainiacs wandering around the school yard, bumping into each other and not knowing how to get around the awkwardness of it all. No, they didn't teach us how to deal with each other interpersonally in school, only how to program computers and dissect starfish. Enough said? I think not. Case in point:
It was a warm spring day, and I was attending a baby shower with one of my best friends being held for gal I had known for a few years. She was having her fourth child, and a baby shower was necessary because she hadn't had a girl in enough years to have had any hand-me-downs. The house sat in a cul-de-sac in a new neighborhood next door to the honoree's new home. The houses were single level spreads with the finest in decor and landscaping and of course every car out front was only within a few years of the Toyota factory. I didn't quite fit in as I care very little about this and that for the sake of appearing well to do and being pretentious is not what I believe to be a weakness of mine. Other weaknesses I have, however, and one is that my mouth is unusually large in the state of being flappy in a figurative sense, which unloads a tremendous amount of irony in this case, soon to be revealed.
The shower was held outdoors in a setting found on after school specials. White tables with white linens and centerpieces of pink made with great care and detail were carefully organized throughout the well-manicured yard. A table for the honoree and her closest friends sat beneath a canopy to keep the expectant mom-to-be (again) cool from the late-morning sun. Another table off to the side held the beautifully wrapped packages that seemed to get larger as the eye strolled along the length of it. My gift, which was shared with my friend and fellow attendee, only appeared lamer and lamer as I noticed the luxury gift wrapping and professionalism in the formation of the bows. My own homemade concoction wasn't anything to ponder, and I was starting to wonder if the extra five bucks wasn't worth the relief from gift-wrap humiliation. Inside the House Beautiful was a quaint, and healthy I might add, potluck of finger foods and salads. As the party started, we ladies of leisure and class assembled inside to help ourselves to a polite mixture of the treats. The majority of us knew each other from church, including the woman of honor, but the woman in whose home we were standing was a stranger to us. As we chatted in small ways with each other, we slowly began to pull the home owner into our conversations as we introduced ourselves in various ways. The woman, in her mid-thirties, was a beauty and looked incredibly familiar. It dawned on me that she looked like a friend we all had in common (apparently not in common enough to have been invited though). "You know who you look like?" We had all agreed that she had a great deal of familiarity written into her features, but couldn't pinpoint it until genius here spoke up. "You look just like our friend Shireen!" The women around me chimed in their agreements, discussing with each other how right on I was. Shireen's twin looked at me and smiled, not knowing how that worked in her favor. Another woman piped up, "and you also look like Rita Wilson!" again with the chimes of agreement and awareness by the other party goers. "Yeah!" I said, "that's it! You, and Shireen for that matter, resemble Rita Wilson! You all have those sparkling gray eyes!" Women repeating my words around me, nodding their heads to each other as the light bulbs went off over their heads. I persisted, "You have the same high cheek bones..." murmuring of agreement..."the hairstyle and color is almost identical" (oh yes, the hair! the eyes, cheeks and hair! mm hm, yes I see that.) Shireen's twin is looking around at the women seeing the conformity in their decision and seeking, perhaps, a way out of this attention...yet I persist. "you have the same smile too! The same smile with the same big mouth!" oh!, the expecting mother places her hand over her mouth and gasps. It's quiet for about 10 seconds as the twin looks at me with a smile painted on by her now "big" mouth in all its big glory. "No, I don't mean big, wide...large, no,..." No word seems to satisfy anyone and my moment to pull my large foot out of my mouth is yanked away as over half the women chime in, now against me, backtracking my words by soothing her with statements of the twin's unmatched beauty, and how Shireen is also beautiful and Rita Wilson a stunner. Their words intend comfort as their hearts resist the need to shun me. In the next instant, the attention is turned to the food, which is where mine usually is and SHOULD HAVE BEEN all along. The group disperses and the twin is left standing there looking for a way under a rock. As the party moves outdoors to the seating areas, I find the twin filling up a plate. I come in next to her and tell her my word choice was terrible and that she is more than lovely. She nods with pleasantries spewing from her big mouth as she delicately places a few items on her plate, most likely to prove to us that nothing on her is really big. I load up my plate with anything sugary available, only proving once again that my mouth is not only literally big, it is figuratively big and ready to accept anything large enough to keep it busy from talking for the rest of the day.
And yet my question remains, aside from the proverbial big mouth, what was wrong with having a physically BIG mouth? They are sexy and sensuous yet classic. They create the most amazing smiles and create envy in everyone. Is the word "big" so horrid or tacky? Can I have big eyes and be okay, or big lips? It's not like I said "big behind" or "big teeth" or something unflattering. Maybe a big mouth is associated with Mick Jagger, at which point the mouth becomes freakish. Anyone know? In any case, I can admit that I wish my mouth was physically big in that supermodel sexy way, and not figuratively big, at least not enough for my size ten shoes that I manage to chew on a regular basis. So in my house I sit, safe from my own big mouth. Y me?
