I have become one of those people.

The only difference between me and the others is that most people have no idea that they are those people, while I’m acutely and mortifyingly aware that I’ve joined the club.

You know people who say the dumbest things? Yes, you definitely know them. The ones people can write books about after shivah. “What type of cancer was it? Because, oy, he was such a heavy smoker….” or “Nebach! Was she wearing a seat belt?” Or after a divorce: “You should know, I never really saw the shidduch….”

Bottom line, it’s time for them to keep their mouths closed. Oh, easy for me to say, I’m the one who was dubbed by her sister the Queen of Small Talk. I was the one who cringed when I heard all those other people say the most inappropriate comments to others. And… I’m also the one who opened my mouth last night, and made someone feel stupid. So no, it’s not easy for me to come clean — I’m just begging you to learn from my mistake.

I was at a vort, where I was introduced to a relative of the kallah. As we chatted and played Jewish Geography, the woman’s young daughter stood quietly next to her mother, not part of the adult conversation, but standing with us and smiling at various intervals.

After some time, it seemed rude not to make eye contact and say hello; besides, as the mother of a twelfth12th grader, seeing a young lady of 19 or 20 automatically sends up my seminary antennae. She looked like a lovely girl, and I knew we’d get into some great seminary talk. Always a good, safe topic! Maybe she could even advise me.

Turning to the daughter, I smiled. “And what’s your name?” I asked, with a cocksure tilt of my head.

“Tamar.” She smiled back.

“Hi, Tamar, how old are you?” I steamrollered on.

“Twenty-nine,” she replied in a softer tone than before, chin lifting slightly in a subconscious act of self-defense.

Wait. What? So not the script she was supposed to follow. Now I’ve lost my lines too. Can’t ask a 29-year-old what seminary she went to — that’s just strange.

Think fast. Improv... only a fraction of a second has passed — not even long enough to be considered a slight hesitation.

“Oh! What do you do?”

No. Take it back. Take it baaaack! I did not mean this to turn into a oh-you’re-single-so-you’re public-property-let-me-give-you-the-third-degree-and-make-you-feel-stupid session. Yet that’s precisely what this sounded like.

I heard a buzzing sound in my head as I tried to undo my damage, but I was stuck. Does anyone have a shoehorn? I thought. Maybe I can shove my foot in deeper? Then again, maybe it’s in as far as it can get.

Is it possible to undo a moment? Hit rewind, restart, control-alt-delete, begin the conversation again? There I am, an innocent, clueless person, just trying to make small talk. This lovely, accomplished young lady was made to feel — I made her feel — awkward and self-conscious at her baby cousin’s vort.

She has no idea that I thought she was 19, but you know what? Even if I did think so, I realized afterward, what was the point of the “How old are you?” Would I ever say that to a woman wearing a sheitel? “Hi, nice to meet you, I’m Estee, how old are you?” (If you just said, “Why not?” to yourself, then guess what: You might be one of those people….)

(Excerpted from Family First, Issue 629)