This Fish Needs A Bicycle

forecast

You can tell a lot about a man by the way he moves in traffic, by how he talks about his mother and by how he takes criticism and manages success. You can tell a lot about a woman by the way she moves in a dress and heels, by how she talks about her friends and by how she takes a compliment and manages disappointment.

I believe in grace. I don’t mean the religious kind (I never did feel that God could make up his mind. Are you an angry God? Or are we doing the grace thing today?). I mean, social grace. Superficially, that includes things like using the correct fork, knowing who should exit an elevator first. Saying, “I’m well” rather than, “I’m good.” (Their meanings differing starkly.) Social grace means making other people comfortable -- knowing when to leave a room, when to bite your tongue or when to offer praise. Being a good loser and a humble winner (except at Scrabble and/or Trivial Pursuit. Humility not included). Knowing how to listen.

I’m not saying I’m a paragon of virtue and grace. Let’s be real. But rules of behavior (some call it propriety) do become the default setting when all else fails. Well, not always. Sometimes emotion can run industrial strength and the result is what we call 'a scene.' But for the most part, even when I’m feeling awkward, out of place or entirely debased, social programming kicks in. But even then, it’s like wearing clear Band-Aids. The hurt gets covered up, but you’re not really fooling anyone who looks closely.

Incidentally, it’s when I lose my grace -- when I trip and stumble over life -- that I learn about my limits as a person. I’ve actually discovered I have fewer than I thought. Who knew?

If my state of mind were a weather forecast, it’d be fairly consistent. Neurotic with a chance of sane. Over one of our Stupid and Fancy™ lunches last week at Blue Water Grill, Jen and I talked about that very thing. She told me that I wear all my sane on the outside. You’d never know about the insanity clause unless you read my blog. Or got me really drunk. For that, I have to thank (blame?) all that social programming.

Even when you get me really drunk, I’ll still use the correct fork, but I will give up a bit of propriety and let you in on the hurt under the Band-Aid. I mean, you already knew it was there anyway.