Foot in mouth disease

I seem to be suffering from this terrible affliction lately. My foot has been quite firmly lodged in my mouth for about a week now. Good thing I wash my socks regularly.

Example one
Was in the lift at Cavendish when a cute little girl asked me what my name was. When I, in turn, asked her, and she said 'Leah', I expounded on how that had been the name I wanted to change mine to when I was little, after reading a series of books about a ballerina. I then asked if she did ballet. To which her mother replied: 'No, no ballet, I'm afraid. And it's Leo ... it's a boy.'
Blush much? Then again, if you're going to let your pretty two-year-old son have hair down to his shoulders, you're asking for trouble.

Example two
A little background: Le Boyfriend, much to my dismay, is sporting a moustache again. He (and his moustache) spent most of Saturday with a friend down from Durban (let's call him Crispy), drinking beer and goading each other into eating too much chili sauce. Consequently, there was a bit of a gaseous situation going on (of the belching variety only, thank god) by the time I arrived home from work.

Crispy (after Le Boyfriend had released yet another burp, though the first, to my knowledge, of the evening): How do you put up with that?
Me (assuming Crispy is referring to the 'tache): What, his face?

Thank god Le Boyfriend was a six pack in and didn't take too much offence*.

Example three
Colleague: Is it weird to stalk a girl who works with your boyfriend, and who he's suddenly all buddy buddy with?
Me: Of course not. That's what Facebook was invented for.
Colleague: Okay, I'm going to search for her. Tell me if you think she's pretty.
Me (rolling my chair over to her desk where Facebook is open to a profile page): Well, for a start, that's a weird profile picture.
Colleague: We're still on my page.



Going to keep my mouth firmly shut for a while.


*Love you baby