Bad Monkey, Bad Friend

I'm a bad, bad monkey. I'm a bad, bad friend.

Let me explain.

Tonight, while flitting around on the net, a friend I haven't seen in a few months and who I know is on vacation this week signed on to a messenger program. Assuming her vacation was with her beau, I IMed and opened with "drunk?" When the person I was chatting with revealed that they were not my friend, I immediately assumed it was the beau. Which means that I, I, well - let's just say I let a few secrets free in my attempt to be funny. Only to be told I was chatting with her mother - her very catholic mother. Her catholic mother who still likes to operate under the illusion that her darling is sweet and innocent and untouched.

There pretty much isn't anyway to come back from what I said. I don't think any batch of cookies is gonna fix this one. Let's just hope she has the good sense to tell her mother that I'm a monkey and a tad socially awkward.

And, in response to the Chick's question - let's just say I have a very compelling reason to NEVER clean again -- what with all the hacking up of lungs.