Sometimes I say really stupid things. In my defense, when I do, my inner smarter person immediately pipes up, “Now, that was REALLY STUPID.”
Yesterday I had been reading The Thirteenth Tribe, about the Kahzars, and was right in the middle of being outraged about the Vikings stealing Slav girls (they sold them- that’s where the word “slave” comes from) when my daughter came home from work.
“You’ll never believe what happened at work,” she said, agitated. Trying to be a good mom, I set my reading aside and asked, “What’s wrong?”
“I was talking to a customer and my cousin John when this man walked up, grabbed me by the arm and said, “I’ve found my wife.’ Then he started dragging me out of the store!”
“What?! Was he joking?”
“That’s the thing, he was dead serious. I’m trying to pull back and not hit this customer upside the head with something from the tool department, the guys were trying to stop him and he just keeps saying he is rich, has several cars and will be a good husband. He offered John a Corvette if he would let him take me.”
That’s when I said the really stupid thing. “Did he look like a Viking?”
“A Viking? What does a Viking look like? And what does that have to do with it?”
Inner smarter person: “Now that was really stupid!”
Me: “Nothing. Sorry.” Of course, we talked about ways for her to be safe, what to do if she sees him again, made sure store security was fully informed and other appropriate things-you know, sensible things.
More sensible than, say…future racial profiling of Norseman.
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