I was probably 17 before I found out they were called TROLLEY cars...not Charlie cars.
One time, I was looking at Malinda (not in a weird way) and thought, "She has a really great complexion. I should ask her about her skin care regiment." But instead of saying that, it came out something like, "Hey, you're really white...ah! I mean, pale. AH! I mean, you have great skin!" Walk away, Ruth.
One time (a lot of them will start with "one time", btw), we were at the mall and the plan was to meet up at Chick-fil-A for lunch. I walked into the food court and saw Mom standing in line to order. Because we always do this, I went up and pinched her fanny. It wasn't Mom.
One time, right after David and I got married, we were at church and I was introducing myself to someone. I turned to introduce David and said, "This is my wife, David." I hadn't gotten used to the "husband" and "wife" thing yet.
In college (I may have already told y'all this), my marketing professor called me "Ruby" the entire semester and I never had the heart to correct him. So, when he would call roll and say "Ruby", I would raise my hand or just answer "here" and everyone would snicker because they all knew my name.
I am HORRIBLE when it comes to telemarketers. Not horrible to them, just horrible at what to do. Because, I don't want to hurt their feelings and hang up and it's hard for me to stop someone in the middle of their script and say, "I'm not interested." So, I'm stuck on the phone with them for HOURS and then eventually, I say, "I'm not interested," having just wasted their time and my time, but anyways. Thank goodness for caller-ID. But before caller-ID, everyone always answered the phone...and so did I. I was probably 16. Sara was a freshman in college. I was staying with her one weekend for a fun sister hangout. She had gone down the hall for a dorm meeting and I was watching TV in her room. The phone rings and I answer. A telemarketer. Who in the world is calling a college student? Shouldn't that be illegal...calling at an educational institution. Whatever. Anyways. The guy asks for Sara.
"I'm sorry, she isn't in right now."
"Oh, that's okay. Are you a college student, too?" said the overly-persistant man.
Ruth, panicking, "Uh...no...I'm...the...babysitter," she said warily, hoping the man would buy it. He didn't.
"Oh, really? Does she have a baby in her dorm?" (Yeah, he was obnoxious and super nosey.)
"No...her cat. She's out to see a movie," Ruth replied, digging herself deeper and deeper into her pit of lies.
"A movie? Why didn't you go?" he said, completely ignoring that the fact that SOMEONE had to watch the dorm cat.
"Because, I'm too young. They went to see an R-rated movie."
"Uh huh. Okay. Well, you tell Sara that Dumb McMillaghan from Stupid, Inc. called and I'll try her again later."
"Okay. Yeah. I'll be sure to tell her that." Huh...not.
And yes, I actually said I was babysitting her cat. I've used the babysitter line before when I was at home and that worked, but didn't think about the fact that he was calling a college student in a dorm.
On many occasions, I've called a lady "sir" and a man "ma'am". Not because of how they looked or that I was confused, it was just because I'm a moron.
Up until about 3 years ago, I thought the song "I'm Coming Out" was about belly buttons. You know...because of the jeans commercials.
When I was 6 weeks pregnant, I went to get the mad mess of hair I had chopped off. While there, I mentioned how horrible my highlights looked so just to ignore them. And she said, "Oh, well, we can fix those if you want." I said, "Oh, no, thanks...I'm 6 weeks pregnant. The doctor told me I couldn't dye or highlight or perm my hair while I was pregnant. It's not good for the baby...something like the chemicals going through your skin to your placenta. I dunno, but I definitely don't want to risk anything at all." The stylist stopped for a minute and said, "I dyed and highlighted and permed my hair throughout all three of my pregnancies and they're fine. Are you sure? Because, it won't take long."
"Aw...uh...thanks. I was thinking of going back to my natural color anyway. I'll just live with the highlights. But, thanks!" Like, what do you say, you know? And I don't know if it's dangerous or not, but that's just what the doctor and the little pamphlet said.
I saw a guy in a store one time wearing a camp t-shirt I had designed a year before. I ran up to him, nearly squealing and said, "Did you go to this camp?? I designed this shirt! EEEEEEEEE!!" He said, "Oh...uhm...no, actually. I got it at a thrift store."
This one is REALLY embarrassing...just keep in mind that I was like, 12, or something. Almost all of my friends had braces. And it was sooooo cool to have braces or a retainer back then. I wanted them more than anything. When I would go to the dentist, I'd ask, "Do I need braces?" He always smiled...his gentle, cigar-raspied voice almost a whisper, "No. Your teeth are fine." Then I would ask, "What do I need to do in order to get braces?" He would just laugh and walk out...never answering my question. I needed braces! So, I made my own. Well, a retainer, I guess. Yes. With paperclips. I only wore it in the bathroom so I could see myself in the mirror and smile. I was fierce! But, the world would never know how awesome I looked. Until one day, I wore my "retainer" in my bedroom. Mom was showing the house (they live in a log cabin...people like to see it...whatevs) to some folks. They came into my bedroom, unannounced...me, standing in the center of the room, mouth full of a homemade paperclip contraption. What to do?!?! I couldn't smile. I couldn't talk. I couldn't take it out, for fear of a slobber string and/or them thinking I was a cyborg snacking on metal. I just stood there...and waved. I'm sure those folks still remember me...the special girl that lived in the woods.