Tongue -Tied and Twisted: Are Our Brains Shrinking? - Page 2
Sometimes my speech is like an iPhone text blood bath when it auto-corrects your words. My husband showed me some chain email from a popular blog that was going around recently featuring people’s text mistakes. I was CRYING with laughter because I do that on a daily basis. I am reading it now with tears just streaming.
But seriously, why, WHY do I do these things? I can’t blame it all on age. Take this story. A little over a week ago I went out with the girls. We were celebrating a birthday at a karaoke bar. We got talking like girls do, and one was recounting her dog’s death, something to which I can certainly relate. Hers had reached the end of his long, lovely life, but she still couldn’t imagine life without him. Mine had a seizure disorder. One minute my doggy was going through the seizure; the next she was gone—all while I was on the phone with the vet. You can just imagine the deathbed pose. (These are the images that keep you up at night.) Ok. Enough about the sad.
Now this girl is a fun, rockin’ chick. So I picked out a rockin’ song I knew she could just kill, you know… to take her mind off things. I really wanted to help her. “You should do this one,” I said, giving her the karaoke book. She took one look at the book and one look at me. I grabbed the book back. Florence and the Machine. What’s wrong with that? I thought. Then I saw the title: “The Dog Days Are Gone.”
I can’t tell you why this happened, but it did. I don’t even feel like I can blame it on my loss of brainpower. Although I REALLY want to… instead I think I’ll do what scores of other people do.
I’ll blame it on something that happened in my childhood.
Four score and some 37 years ago, I was a kindergartner. This was back in the 70s when you walked with the neighborhood kids, not your mom. My buds were Joey and Walter. Oh, we were a cocky group of kindergarteners. Every day we passed by this little girl not yet old enough for school. So one day we pointed it out. “Na na na na na, we go to school and you don’t!”
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I really didn’t mean it that way. I liked her and wanted her to be able to come to school, too. But it came out so mean, and Joey thought it was sooo funny—and the laughter ended up being so contagious. Until she started crying and her delinquent cousin came out, created a huddle, then knocked our heads together (true story). Then it felt like a disease. I’ll never forget that kid’s scrunched up face when he came toward us. “That’ll teach you.” No remorse.