Open mouth insert foot…

Someone I know always said that spies should just say that they work for the post office.  It is sheer brilliance really if you think about it.   Everyone knows what a Post man (or woman) does, so there is nothing really to say further on that subject.

If you go to a dinner party or any party for that matter where you are obliged to speak to a bunch of strangers, what is the first question you normally ask them… “So, what do you do?”

I was recently at a friend’s birthday party  Buena Vista Social Café. Which I thought was severely overpriced, the service left much to be desired (that is what happens if you wait an hour for a plate of nachos) the prices where exorbitant. And the food, well lets just say, it was crap.

Anyway, I only knew three of the people there and after an hour of discussing all the possible television series with the guy next to me, I left to go the ladies room and when I returned I saw that someone had taken my place.

I was hard-pressed not to do a little happy dance right there and then and go up to the poor soul that took my empty seat and thank them for the kindness they had bestowed on me, but anyway I am getting a bit of topic.

Anyhoo, there I was, with nowhere to sit but beside my friend’s boyfriend.  Let’s call him S.  I sat next to S for about ten minutes twiddling my thumbs-and anyone who knows me that I am definitely not the shy and reserved type, I can pretty much strike up a full blown conversation with a broom stick, if  given the opportunity.

I was stuck next to S with nary a thing to talk about, so I reverted to the old standby, “so what do you do?”.

(This time wasn’t nearly as mortifying as the time I asked someone who we picked up, thinking that she was in need of a lift and it turns out we picked up the only prostitute in Sedgefield, but that I think is a story for another day)

Thankfully he said he was a Chartered Accountant.

This was pretty much where the conversation stopped.

Or should have stopped, if my inebriated brain didn’t remember this little titbit about National Intelligence Agency, which my pickled brain sent directly to my mouth before I could shut it, at which point I proceeded to tell S that the N I A could tell their recruits that when they are questioned about their employment they should say that they are CA’s because no-one will ask them anything further out of fear of being bored to death.

You could cut the silence with a knife…and then I wonder why I don’t get invited to more these things?