Dangerous Liaisons Through the Ages

I consider myself an all-round blunderer. There isn't a situation I haven't bungled. Take matters of the heart. I learnt from the masters: JR and Sue Ellen, Bo and Hope, Mom and Dad. I mean, really, what hope did I have?

* Age 11: I sent my best friend's (BF) brother an anoynymous Valentine's card, saying I thought he was hot, etc, etc. It was part of a dare BF and I had devised, but no one actually thought I'd go through with it, least of all me. Can't quite remember what I wrote, but it must've been lurid because parents had to be called.

* Age 13: I broke up with a boy by giving him a handwritten note and running away before he could read it. From memory, the note said something along the lines of "It's not you, it's me," which I no doubt stole word-for-word from a soap opera. Strangely, he didn't make a passionate plea to get back together. We never spoke again.

* Age 14: My friends and I spent a football match ogling a male spectator, who appeared to be our age. I engaged in what I thought was artful flirting and thought male spectator was responding in kind. During an awkward conversation, he inexplicably gave me his phone number. A few days passed before I was able to quell the anxiety and call him. I called. And called. And called. No answer. Ever. I bet he did that to all the girls.

* Nothing happened when I was 15. Nothing I recall, anyway. But I made up for that in years to come. Read on...

* Age 16: A boy friend (not boyfriend) made me a cake for my birthday. Later, someone asked me what the cake tasted like and I said it was awful. What I didn't know at the time was that the boy friend overheard every ungrateful, blundergretable word.

* Age 17: I used my music theory notebook as a journal. (We never had to write stuff down in music. Just bashed at whatever instrument was available. Exams were, like, Name That Tune.) Cleverly, or so I thought, I never drew attention to this book, because if people knew what it was, they'd be trying to steal it off me. 'Cause that's what happens in high school. And if anyone were to read the journal, they'd find out I had a mega crush on a boy who was an entire year younger than me. But someone must've cottoned on, because one day that book was pilfered from my bag. I asked EVERYONE where the bloody hell my DIARY was. No one ever confessed, and the boy I liked avoided me until graduation.

* Age 17 (again): One of my most shameful blunders. I stole my friend's prom date a few months before the big night. He'd been bitching to me about what a bitch she was, and she'd been bitching to me about...I can't remember what. Anyway, one thing led to another and I kind of suggested to him that we should go together instead. He agreed. So we did. And it was years before I realized that I'd committed a blunderbitch of a mistake in taking my friend's date.

* Age 18: I wrote a two-page letter to a boy I liked which asked if he'd consider liking me too. I gave it to him and I ran away. (Hmm, what is it with this writing and running thing?) He was my age but so much more mature. He read the letter and later approached me to say he appreciated my feelings but wasn't sure we'd be good for each other. Funny, that! But he hoped we'd still go on being friends. Of course, I never spoke to him again out of sheer rigor mortis.

* Age 18 (again), a soldier I met in an airport transit lounge in Europe struck up a conversation. Before I knew it, he had my address. Within weeks, he was sending me letters, silverware (i.e. a bracelet; really quite lovely), and pictures of the deer he'd shot. I ended things in a very short note about not liking photographs of dead does.

* Age xx: I managed to marry someone who loves me despite my blunderability. But we're not really sure if the minister who performed the ceremony was a bona fide minister. He didn't know much about religion, though he knew an awful lot about wine. Still, we've got a certificate with our names on it, so we're keeping our fingers crossed that we're actually married.

Tea-Leaf Reading

Where I came from, tea was uncomplicated, humble. It came in unbleached Bushell's bags; all you had to do was add water and two and a half teaspoons of sugar, hold the milk. I didn't know about varieties and flavors.

Then at age 17, I stayed overnight at an older friend's house. We drank many varieties of beverages, all containing at least 12% alcohol. Next morning, we stumbled to the kitchen and stared at the empty innards of the fridge. My buddy, X, sighed and said, "All we've got is English breakfast. Do you want some?"

My vodka-soaked brain whirred. English breakfast? What's that, a spread of crumpets, kippers, pikelets, muffins and marmalade? It sounded fancy, as well as being far too much effort. Besides, I wasn't sure if X was a teeny bit delusional. All she had in the fridge was a lick of butter. I faked a yawn and replied, "Nah, don't go to any trouble. I think I'll just have tea."

X paused and raised an eyebrow. "Okay," she said slowly. She pulled a red box out of the pantry and got the water boiling. After that day, our friendship cooled. I didn't understand why until, maybe a year or so later, I finally figured out what English Breakfast was.

Do you know your gunpowder from your genmaicha? Your rooibos from your oolong? Blunder no more...
Teas etc
T2
Tea Leaves
The Tea Spot
Lady Mendi's Tea Salon in New York, where you'll really test your tea etiquette. I'm afraid to approach this establishment, given my blundering ways, but it looks purty from where I'm sitting.

The Bridal Shower

The bridal shower tradition is said to have originated in Holland, after a village showered a couple with household gifts prior to their wedding because the bride's father disapproved of the groom and refused to provide a dowry.

In all my 30-odd years, I'd never been to a bridal shower. Even my own. (It's possible I'd never been invited to one because there's always a high-blunder danger when I'm around.) What I didn't know prior to attending a recent shower was that these get-togethers have themes. Yes, it might be a kitchen tea, a lingerie shower, a garden shower, et cetera, et cetera (read all about them here; I wish I had). Guests are expected to give a gift appropriate for the theme.

Now, the invitation I received read "an afternoon tea party in the garden." Okay. So, I do like the bride very much, but I don't know her very well. I was aware, though, that she has every household item known to woman, she doesn't like clutter, and she likes pink. (Hmm, I know her better than I thought.) What the hell was I supposed to get her?

Believe it or not, I was clued up enough to know that gift certificates and cash are no-no's. And I knew I had to get "something for the home." I settled on a room spray from a premium French brand, thinking I'd covered all the bases--it was compact enough to stash in my handbag, expensive, smelled lovely, and it was pink. I even threw in some lip gloss--also French, compact, expensive, smelled lovely, pink.

At the bridal shower, as guests arrived, my heart sank as each elegantly dressed woman walked in carrying massive parcels. "Oh, no," I thought. "Everyone bought a Kenwood appliance except me. Why didn't Blunder Woman think of purchasing a blender for the bride-to-be? And why am I wearing jeans when everyone else looks like a Calvin Klein model?" Throughout the afternoon I glanced at my little pink gift box, kicking myself for being so cheap. (I swear, the gift was imported from France; it says so on the box.)

Throughout the actual tea party, I had a running commentary of do's and don'ts going on in my head. "Do eat at least one item from every plate. Don't stir your tea and then dip the wet teaspoon into the sugar bowl--you can live with a bitter tea taste for one day. Aren't the ribbon-wrapped bundles of silverware cute? Which one's mine? Oh, whoops, I've been using the hostess's dessert fork all this time. God, I hope the b-t-b doesn't open the gifts in front of everybody. Oh, no, the hostess wants us to watch the gift-giving ceremony. But I haven't finished the cake she goaded me to eat. Everyone else's plate is empty except mine.")

As each gift was unwrapped carefully, the hostess noted down names of the gifters and what they gave (this, I've learned, is proper procedure during a shower). Baking trays, muffin tins, cake forms, recipe books... Hmm, I was beginning to pick up on a KITCHEN THEME!

When my present was unwrapped, the very gracious b-t-b told me how much she loved the brand. I said something stupid like, "You can spray it around when you're getting ready for the wedding," which was met with silence from the others. I kept saying to myself, "It's for the home. It's very expensive. It's pink!!! No one else bought anything pink!" When a package of tea towels was revealed, I felt a little better about my gift-buying skills. But still, even tea towels are kitcheny. Nobody uses room spray in the kitchen unless they're trying to disguise the scent of burnt chicken parmigiana.

I reached for the champagne and toasted my Blunderbility.

Which was a bit of a mistake. No, I didn't get drunk. But I did get car sick. In the b-t-b's car.

How does this rate on the scale of Blunderbility? High, Medium or Low? What can Blunder Woman do to make up for this faux pas?