Every once in a while, OmegaMom, normally an oh-so soo-ahv and SO-phisticated woman, at ease in all social circumstances (bwahaha!), really does a doozy.

Yesterday's doozy was on a par with asking a woman, "Oh!  How lovely!  You're expecting!  When is it due?", only to have her reply with a stony face, "I'm not pregnant."  (As Dave Barry says, you should only ask a woman if she is pregnant when she's standing in front of you giving birth.)

I had taken OmegaDotter to the skating rink.  While she was slowly making her way across the rink to her skating teacher, I snuck out to the registration desk to ask about...

...ahem...

...renting a room for a birthday party.  (No comments from the peanut gallery, please.)  Could I see those rooms, I asked.

The nice young man (young is the operative word.  He looked to be 18.  Or 16.  Very young.  They make them younger every year, y'know?) led me around the ice rink, and I spied, seated in a small section of bleachers cleverly stashed away in a corner, K.'s mom with a young lady.

So, after I eyeballed--and smelled--the rental rooms, all of which are used as locker rooms for various sweaty and hormonal teenage hockey players, I went and sat down with K.'s mom to chat.

In the midst of the chat, I asked her, "Is this your daughter?", gesturing at her companion.

"Noooo...that's my coworker, Charlotte."

Watch OmegaMom sink into the floor with embarassment.

In my defense, Charlotte was a very young looking woman.  I had thought she was about 17.  And K.'s mom looks to be only a few years younger than me.  I am more than old enough to have a 17-year-old daughter.  Much more.  In fact, I could have a 17-year-old granddaughter.  And Charlotte had facial features that were very reminiscent of K.'s mom.

Oh, who am I trying to kid?  It was a social fox paws of the worst sort.  Not as bad as asking her if she were pregnant.  Not quite.  I only implied that K.'s mom was...um...oldish, and that Charlotte was...um...youngish.

Oy.

Aside from that, having OmegaDotter take lessons is a splendid idea.  Forgetting to bring my own skates is a splendid idea.  See, if I'm in the skating rink, the dotter wants to come over and ask me questions.  Every three minutes.  And then she wants me to hold her hand, while she hangs on me and never finds her center of balance.  So lessons are grand--she's doing quite well now.

Peer-pressure is a Good Thing in this instance, as well.  It won't be when she's 16, say, but right now, having K. do something means that she needs to do the same thing.  K. and the dotter chased each other--gingerly--here and there on one side of the rink, went around the orange construction cones, and then ventured all the way around the rink by themselves.  Woohoo!

Technorati: Social faux pas, Dave Barry, ice skating