Author’s Note: Every word of this story is true. No morons were hurt in the making of the story told here, except yours truly. I’m all right now. Thank you.

I once had a client (who shall remain nameless), whose wife (who also shall remain nameless) worked in the business (which, too, shall remain nameless). The three of us (and others) were correspondents in much email traffic over the course of our working relationship.

 Unbeknownst to me (it was none of my business, at least at first), the wife belonged to a knitting group comprising only women. Owing, I suppose, to our voluminous email correspondence, my name was somehow added to the list of members in said knitting group. And inevitably, as you might guess, it came to pass that I was included in a group invitation to an evening of knitting and lighthearted socializing with the women in the group.

Ooh, That Smarts

 I didn’t want to appear ungracious or ungrateful. I didn’t want to attend the gathering of the knitting group. And, alas, I couldn’t resist the devilish inclinations of my Irish heritage. So, I hit Reply All and composed the following message:

Dear [Name Withheld],

Thank you for inviting me to the next meeting of your knitting group. I’d love to join you but for a rather indelicate accident. 

While leaving for another knitting group, I put my needles in my back pocket as I searched for a few skeins of yarn I’d misplaced. Once I found them, I was so distracted I hurried out to my car and jumped into the driver’s seat with the needles still in my pocket. 

The surgeon says the sutures can come out in a week or so, and I should be able to sit comfortably by the end of the month. I’d love to join your next gathering, even if I have to bring my Tush-Cush.

Thank you so much for your invitation.


Within a few moments of my having sent the email, my phone rang. It was the woman who’d issued the invitation, apologizing for putting me on the list and saying she hoped I hadn’t been offended. I thanked her for being such a good sport, and we both laughed.

Why Do I Do That?

It may be attributable to my Irish heritage. I don’t know. But I was brought up with a number of firm convictions: (1) You should never let the truth stand in the way of a good story. (2) Any story worth telling is worth embellishing. (3) Every situation that can be treated with humor should be treated with humor. 

I wonder if that’s why so many people think I’m a pain in the ass.