"So I put my foot in my mouth," I conclude in conversation. "In a good way."
"You?" Zelda laughs, her voice already dripping with sarcasm. "Never."
"Yeah," I admit, nodding. "I do that a lot." Jake agrees.
"But the thing about me is," I start, thinking of how to put this. "When I say something, that's what I mean, completely, right then. There are no ulterior motives. I may change my mind, but it's what I think right then."
"And I think I prefer that," Zelda tells me. "Don't have to second-guess."
My friend Mary pointed this out to me several years ago. How she at first tried to figure out what I really meant when I said something, but finally came to understand that when I said something, I meant what I said right then, right there. Any reaction was completely honest. She didn't have to worry.
It gets me in trouble, but it's always the Ramona Quimby style kind of trouble. There's never a surprise betrayal. You can always see me coming, though maybe never stop me. Even though perhaps someone should.
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