I’ve never been great at thinking on my feet—or on my head, for that matter. My specialty seems to be thinking on my back, because it’s only when I’m lying in bed that the perfect comeback finally pops into my mind. By then, of course, the moment’s long gone, and all I can do is sigh and think, “Man, I wish I’d said that.”
I just don’t know when to quip. I’m so hopeless at quipping that I’ve considered booking a stay at one of those “retort resorts.” They offer a course called “Jesting While Fencing,” which sounds promising. After all, some of the best wordplay happens during swordplay, right? My wisecracks aren’t just cracked—they’re completely shattered. Every time someone gives me lip, I wish I could respond with something clever and tongue-in-cheek. Instead, it’s more like teeth-in-tongue because I always end up biting my tongue after something dumb slips out.
I’ve even thought about hiring someone to write my comebacks for me. You know, a little quip pro quo. But alas, I’m always late to the repartee, and I’ve accepted that I’ll never master the art of the taunt. My “bon mot” is more like “bon not.” The only thing I know how to roast is potatoes, and even those don’t always turn out right.
Honestly, I make a mockery out of mockery. But as I look back on what I’ve written, I realize this whole thing is just one big self-roast. Maybe that’s been the secret all along—insulting myself before anyone else gets the chance. And when they look at me in bewilderment, I’ll just shrug and quip, “Hey, I’m only kidding myself.”