I’ll offer a near miss.

Chat amongst colleagues over a coffee, the topic was something very normal and mundane: how lazy are we about cooking.

My colleague Carol said, “sometimes I just throw some chicken nuggets in the toaster because I don’t care or have the energy”

My response I intercepted between the brain and mouth: “living the bachelor lifestyle, carol?”

Carol’s husband had died quite suddenly 6 months prior. I didn’t fuck up, but I almost did and it haunts me still over a decade later.

Many years ago in high school, I got stranded after tennis practice. A super friendly Indian teammate offered me a ride home but mentioned, “just a heads up our car smells like dog.”

Coming from a sheltered and pretty racist household, I cluelessly replied, “It’s okay! I don’t mind the smell of Indian food!”

He gave me a look of quiet disappointment and said, “I meant our dog. She sheds a lot.”

The ride home was painfully silent. I still cringe thinking about it.

Saying goodbye to the bereaved at the end of the funeral.

“Thank you, I had a lovely time”

Not me, but a friend. We were at an LGBTQ+ friendly ice cream shop in Seattle trying to figure out what to order, so he’s trying samples. Out of nowhere he says “man, this ice cream is so good! It’s like you have a bunch of fairies working back there” and he clueless licks the spoon as most of the room stares at him in disbelief “or elves or something! Something magical at least. Can I try the lavender?”

It wasn’t as bad as some - no one was offended AFAIK - but recently a friend’s wife asked if I was close with my in-laws. I had recently moved geographically much closer to them, so I described the distance between us, about four miles.

I didn’t even realize I had misunderstood until her husband clarified later in the conversation.