I Lack Social Grace

laugh too loud at subtle witticisms
dining out with friends,
become wildly intense during discussions
meant to be light-hearted,
arrive way early, over-eager,
before John and Marty have had a chance to dress,
I am usually underdressed
unless I'm overdressed,
I forget the thing Elena told me
was supposed to be a secret, can't figure out
why she didn't want them to know that anyway,
forget to take my shoes off
before I walk on Lillian's white carpet,
loudly state I hate raw onions
just before Hildy serves her onion salad,
a dish for which she claims she's famous.
I want badly to be liked
so I lay awake at night making plans
to be a different kind of person.

I read the title of this, laughed, and knew I'd be in for a delightful poem. If only it didn't describe me almost to the T. Except for the early part. I'm usually right on time, a few minutes late, if I go at all, and am always the last to leave. I'm the one still talking when others are nodding off.



I too, lack social grace. What's worse, my sons have informed me that I'm politically incorrect, call me a misogynist, racists, and a few other ists I can't recall. They say I'm forgiven because my generation is crass. Though that is not the word they use.  ::) Here I thought I was 'woke', which is a privileged white woman's way to try to blend in. Or, so I'm told.  ???


I digress.  :-X

Great poem.