Today I was bustling around, feeling happy. Jane was being particularly cheerful and serene, thanks to a combination of the liberal application of cheese and the end of her latest bout of teething. The sun was shining, I'd gotten some chores done, school's out for the summer, tra la la di la la.
Jane and I were toddling around together at the edge of our tiny yard when a teenaged girl walked up and said, "Excuse me, can I use your bathroom?"
"Sorry," I said. And then, instead of saying something true, like "my hands are full with the baby," or "my husband is on a business call inside," I said, "It's not my house."
WHY? What imp of the perverse possessed me?
"Oh," she said, "I thought you lived around here," as I thought, WHAT THE FUCK and WHY DID YOU SAY THAT and WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU, smiling feebly, until she went away. Now I imagine she will probably spend the next year seeing me around town and thinking, "There goes that horrible woman who lied to me instead of just letting me pee."
Outstanding success. Maybe you could tell me something incomprehensible and/or stupid you did recently, to make me feel better.
(But probably not, because that kind of naked request for comments rarely works, does it? And all the less so when you add it to the end of your post a day after you posted it in the first place.)