Judging from the letters and e-mail I have received since writing of my personal, lifelong struggle with foot-in-mouth disease (FIMD), I would guess that I am not the only one suffering from this horrible social illness. Many readers wrote to confess their own blunders. I think they call this therapy.
A local prosecuting attorney, Janise Macanas, wrote that she is cursed with an incurable case of FIMD. After reading her e-mail, I am forced to agree with her. A few samples (all separate conversations):
Janise (at a party): Are you related to Judge Doe? I'm in his court quite often.
Reply: I am Judge Doe.
Janise: Where's your attorney?
Reply: I am the attorney.
Janise: Are you the defendant?
Reply: No, I'm his wife.
Janise: Are you the probation officer?
Reply: No, I'm the judge.
There are many others, she says, but "the others are selectively forgotten."
Dear Ms. Prosecuting Attorney, my advice is (and maybe this will sound familiar) never ask a question that you don't know the answer to.
Ann Cannon, the Deseret News columnist and the daughter of LaVell Edwards, exposed another advanced case of FIMD — her father's.
Edwards (seeing a familiar face at a wedding reception): "Aren't you my wife's O.B.?"
Familiar face: "No, but I am your dog's veterinarian."
As a recovering FIMD sufferer, I'm not going to touch that one.
Another reader, Gail Winegar, has a terminal case of FIMD. She shared a couple of her own foot-in-mouth stories because, she wrote, "foolery loves company." Actually, Gail, that isn't true. I would rather be on the other side of the room when someone is sticking their foot in their mouth, but that's just me.
Gail was attending a viewing once. Looking at the deceased, she couldn't think of what to say to the grieving widow, so she blubbered, "Is he going to be OK?"
She said she couldn't think of anything else to say, but I'm guessing anything would have been better than that.
Comeback I wish the widow had made: "He's dead, but I think he's going to get better."
During her daughter's school choir concert Gail decided to make polite chit-chat with the lady sitting next to her, thus violating the first rule of FIMD sufferers: Never chit-chat when silence is an option.
Gail: "Are you here to watch a student?"
Lady: "No, I'm here to watch the choir director."
Gail: "Oh, are you his mother?"
Lady: "No, I'm his wife."
If you could see that coming from a mile away, you are probably suffering from FIMD.
Reader Kim Anderson wrote about her own battle with FIMD. "I first contracted foot-in-mouth disease at a social event for my husband's work — a dinner for hospital administrators and nurses. When one nurse introduced himself and his male 'partner' to me, I introduced myself as 'Rod's husband.' I am not a homophobe — I was just caught off-guard."
I feel your pain, Kim.
Dr. Franklin Walker reports that he also suffers from FIMD. Dr. Walker has violated Rules 2 and 3 from the FIMD sufferer's handbook: (1) Never ask a woman if she's pregnant unless you see a baby actually coming out; (2) Never refer to a baby as "he" or "she" when "it" will do.
Dr. Walker told a neighbor, "Your boy is really getting big." At which point she informed him it was a girl. Dr. Walker once asked a large woman, "When's the big event?"
"If looks could kill, I would not be here," says the doctor.
Dr. Walker reports, "My wife and I . . . have had many laughs at my expense, since I seem to have had the foot-in-mouth disease for some time."
Take it from a doctor: Laughter is the best medicine for FIMD.
Doug Robinson's column appears on Tuesdays. Please send e-mail to drob@desnews.com .