Think Before You Speak

Think before you speak. The instruction is simple enough. Theoretically, we think faster than we speak, so our mouths shouldn't be able to beat our minds to the punch (or punchline in this case). And yet...

Here are some humdingers:

How many months are you?
I'm not pregnant.

And you must be her father.
No I'm her husband.

What a cute little baby boy!
That's a girl.

The list goes on and we've all uttered them. But my all-time favourite comes from my university days in Grahamstown, South Africa. It was my first year and we had a dress-up party with the theme "When I Grow Up..." So we had a fun combination of costumes ranging from surgeons to trailer trash. My good friend Nicky (this may or may not be her real name) went for a classic: the fireman. Never one to do half-measures, she somehow talked an actual fireman into lending her his uniform; the full outfit complete with the shiny red helmet. Needless to say, she looked great and we had a fun night.

The next day, I walked her down to the fire station so she could return the uniform. I just want to mention at this point that we lived in a tiny student town where any faux pas was magnified and rumours spread like wildfire (note the theme-relevant metaphor).

So in we go to the fire station - and you really have to picture this to get the full impact of the story. Two pretty little girls walking into an area filled with strapping young firemen all striding about purposefully. As we enter, they all come to a perfect standstill, like a flash mob in reverse, and stare at us. I should also mention that Nicky had her arms stretched out in front of her, balancing the neatly folded uniform and the shiny helmet as if they were a sacred offering. She had also included a slab of chocolate to say thank you. So, two little girls with a uniform and helmet standing in the fire station.

Finally the captain comes up to us to ask if he can help.

Nicky: Is John here?
Captain: No, he's off today.

And here is the beautiful moment where her mouth raced to finish line, leaving her mind far in distance, powerless to stop her. With all the firemen listening intently, she hands over the uniform and says to the captain:

"Please give these to John and tell him thanks for last night."

End of story. I won't elaborate on the collective facial expressions of the men, or how quickly we turned and walked out of there. All she had to say for herself after that was:

"You better pray we never have a fire because we can NEVER call the fire brigade again!"