mistakes were made...oh so many!

a corrective: the pre-post-mortem

Dec 21, 2025

A quick note up top. In January I am beginning the read.write.eat. Mentor Book Club. Why not gain inspiration from the personal stories of people who've overcome challenges to live a vibrant life, to do both average and extraordinary things with grace? If you’re interested, please let me know by hitting this link and signing up. More soon!

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Bonjour-Bonjour,

Music poured from this glorious church in Vieille Ville, Nice. Of course I paused. Of course I pulled out my phone and started to video record the choir, the priests in opulent purple robes, the small congregation, the vitrine, the ceiling. Dear Reader, I was rapt.
Thank god I didn’t step inside because I had to make a hasty retreat as soon as I saw… wait for it… the coffin!! Yes, this idiot tourist (ahem, me) was filming someone’s funeral! You’d think I might have recognized the requiem before I began to record.

When roaming around Italy a number of years ago I traipsed through cities and villages alike, gawking and bumping into people. “Mi piaci, mi piaci!” I said. I thought I was saying, “Sorry, excuse me.” But I was actually telling everyone, “I like you! I like you!” Which may well have been true, but they thought I was a nut.

The waiter asked our table if we wanted a digestif, or dessert, or cafe, I full throatedly announced, “Non, merci. Vous etes ennuyeux.” Which of course is, “No, thank you. You are boring.” Which, as you can guess, was not what I was trying to say.

I told the man selling grilled chestnuts that I was going to “Conduire velouté de marrons.” When he looked at me quizzically I fiercely doubled down. You see, there are so many times I attempt to speak French and the person listening responds in English. Perhaps they are being kind. Perhaps they’ve run out of patience. “Oui, conduire soupe aux marrons.” I insisted, “Yes, I am going to drive chestnut soup.” I say conduire, you say cuisiner.

I wanted moutard verte a l’estragon. And honestly who doesn’t? Tarragon mustard is delicious in vinaigrettes, a tiny smear on a baguette with a cornichon and paté… it’s a dream. What I asked for was, moutard a l’estrogen. And honestly who doesn’t want estrogen in their mustard? Imagine a little smear of mustard for hot flashes, night sweats, mood swings, vaginal dryness, irregular periods, fatigue, trouble concentrating, and brittle bones. Sounds like a dream!

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These mistakes are funny and fun and (mostly) harmless. But sometimes gaffs can hurt feelings. I don’t know if you know this about me, but I am a worrier. I’ve got 11’s on my forehead to prove it:

Also, I’ve been told that in the enneagram world I am a 6. That is, I enter a room (my life) and look around for everything that could go wrong and try to fix it. A friend said, “You have 11’s because you’re a 6!”

So what am I supposed to do when my tendency to worry collides with my propensity to make mistakes? Here’s a corrective we’ve taken up in our circle of family and friends. It’s called the pre-post-mortem. I may have told you about it in the past, but just in case:

Before leaving a dinner party, I call myself to the carpet with the pre-post-mortem. For example, I might say, “Hey, I’m sorry I said I hate Pinocchio when Patti was telling us how much she loves Pinocchio. I’m such a jerk! Who hates Pinocchio?”

Whatever I’ve said that will wake me up in the night thinking, “I’m going to have to call so-and-so in the morning!” I want to fix it, stat. Whatever XYZ you’ve said, the pre-post-mortem is the chance to clear up your weird missteps in the moment. It is truly genius. Sometimes it’s the best part of the evening.

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Hey, before I go, what dumb thing did I say that I should worry about? Please let me know:

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