FREUDIAN SLIPS
Some people believe that there is something that underlies the little mistakes and misspeaks that we initiate. Is that true? This morning I took pause when a friend who plays scrabble at Club #350 admonished me for misrepresenting the ‘High Game’ played last evening. He told me that this is not the first time that such an event occurred. How could that be? Am I not flawless?
I bet that I am aware of only a fraction of the typos and errors that I produce. There is no ill will, on my part, for having my recklessness highlighted. It causes me a bit of inner angst but it also makes me even more determined to not have that reoccur.
One area that will most likely be solved by the next generation of word processor programmers is how to weed out those unwanted words, in bodies of works, when they are submitted to spellcheck. Now-a-days only the non-words are highlighted for elimination. When I type some word twice twice and it is spelled correctly, my spell check ignores it.
When I miss an appointment, does that mean something more than I was just forgetful?
Actually, I can’t remember the last time I missed an appointment. That doesn’t mean that I haven’t missed appointment. I’m probably so hostile in regard to that person that I can’t even remember that I forgot.
I am never late! ! ! If you know me, than you know that I am always 15+ minutes early. One time I was an entire week early to a wedding. They were painting the benches in the garden, readying the place for the following week. I took off my suit and helped with the painting. I do become offended when others make me wait, and that seems to be way too often. I’ve use to have dear friends who were habitually late. If I wanted to meet them at 8PM, I’d always tell them that we will meet at 7PM. Even with that I may have had to wait an extra 5 minutes. My experience is that women are almost always late. While growing up, my mom, my auntie Annie, and my aunt Jean were never late. I find tardiness a sign of disrespect and a statement that I’m not worthy of your timeliness.
I had an aunt who was always sticking her foot into her mouth. In 1963 there were very few divorces, compared to today. It was something that people didn’t talk about in the open; they whispered. One of our friends had been married, and divorce, and was marrying for a second try. A shower for the bride was being held. The room was packed with women toting gifts. Aunt Min did not know the bride to be. Upon arriving at the party, she leaned to over to one of the strangers in the room and whispered, “Who’s the divorcee?” The woman answered, “Me.”
Ooops. Pardon meeeeeee.