Shall I Compare Thee to a Golden Retriever?
Lady Chatterley thinks not. I once suffered the indignation of being compared to a professor's pet in likeness, in attempt to remember my name.
"Oh, how lustrous and golden your hair is, just like my pet who shares your namesake," said he. "Whenever I see your face, I will think of my dog and will remember your name forever."
Joy. I wonder if he associated the smell of hot, dog breathe and drool with my aspect as well, not to mention piddles on Persian carpets.
One would think such a name as Lady Chatterley would be burned into his brain. One also would think, this gentleman should have learned early on in life the rudeness of comparing a lady to a dog. But truly, that is not the worst of socially inept remarks made by unassuming men.
A man who sat next to me at the theatre once commented when I rose from my chair, "My, I had no idea how short you are! How tall are you?" Possibly upon seeing the shocked indignation on my visage, he amended his statement in an attempt at a half-hearted apology. "You probably tire of hearing such a question. You must be asked that all the time."
"Not at all," I said, my wit coming in a speed that surprised even I. "I am rarely asked such personal questions . . . except by children. And very rude adults."
Dearest reader, never have I so enjoyed humiliating another. Rude, yes, I was. But it was ever so satisfying to speak one's mind as freely as one might in, well, a romance novel. Surely I am not alone. There must be others on this interweb who have relished in a miracle of wit that came from the muse of indignation. If so, I invite you to share your experiences here.
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