My co-workers and I are out for happy hour on a Thursday evening. I'm not much of a drinker these days, but the free chips and salsa and company keep me occupied. My co-worker starts telling me her plans for the weekend. They involve her 13 year old daughter's birthday party at a local activity center. As she describes a party filled with good wholesome fun, I interject the story of my 13th birthday party.
"I had a dance for my 13th birthday. We rented out a clubhouse at the front of a neighborhood. Not our neighborhood but one about 20 minutes away so people would think we lived nicer then we did. A new girl at school decided to bring a gun to the party and give hand jobs to the boys." As I say hand jobs I do the unnecessary motion with my hand, she tries to stop me by grabbing my hand and nodding that she understands. Instead of taking this opportunity to stop right there, I continue.
"My mom left the party to go on a date, and there we were 50 unchaperoned curious, hormonal teenagers. The following week Dunsgun (this is the nickname we gave the girl who brought the gun and gave the hand jobs) got expelled from our conservative private Catholic school when word got out that she was the life of my birthday party. The Pastor wrote a letter home to parents informing them of my party, needless to say parents weren't very excited to have their kids interact with me. Nobody ever danced. Your daughter's party sounds like it will turn out great."
I concluded as she looked at me with a blank look. At this point I realize I may have gone too far. Why do I, a 30 something woman, find it necessary to even bring up my 13th birthday party at happy hour with co-workers none the less? In retrospect, I see that holding my tongue could've saved my co-worker unnecessary anxiety.