On Day 3 of my New Entrants' class, Sister Mary Loyola* put a clothes peg on my tongue, bet you can guess why.
It didn't work.
Talking
must be the childhood skillset I have exploited most - it's right up
there in daily practice with eating and toilet training. I can't resist
a natter, excepting only on that cursed contraption the telephone.
It's
not for lack of mathematical ability that I can't count the times I've
wished I'd kept my mouth shut. Often immediately after some
stupid/hurtful/indiscreet/inaccurate blabber escaped. On a couple of
wincingly notable occasions, it's been a combination of all four.
Humiliation high score!
Anyway, all that wishing is
slowly taking effect. Conversations are actually more fun when you let
the other guys have a turn, I have found. Amazing! Listening means you
learn stuff. And of course there is the reduced potential for making
those dumb comments.
I've long since forgiven Sister
Mary Loyola for the peg incident. After all, it's a great story, and
she did gift me with perfect apostrophe control. Of which more later.
*Did anyone read my first school teacher's name as Sister Mary Loquacious? Ironic, innit?
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