I am shy.

OK, it may not seem like it from the way I’ve ranted and raved and generally babbled on all year, and even people who know me and my mouth may be baffled, but it’s true.

I’m fine when I’m around friends, acquaintances and family, but get me in a group of strangers and I clam up—fast.

In small group situations where I’m forced to speak up or at parties where no one seems to know anyone else, the problem becomes especially acute.

Inevitably, one outgoing and chipper person will break the ice when the silence becomes too obvious. “Hi, I’m Brandi Sue and I’m in telecommunications,” or “You’re lookin‘ at Chadwick Russell Thames III—I’m into polo,” someone will say, as everyone else nods and feigns attention.

“Hi. Lynn name is my. Um, my Lynn is name,” I’ll answer, turning a unique shade of fuchsia, adding something unintelligible like “Garbleblob.”

Meanwhile, the ice is totally shattered by now, as everyone giggles and I pretend it’s all a just-kidding-I-meant -to-do-that ploy.

The shyness thing didn’t make adolescence any easier for me. In junior high, the cool thing for a lot of guys to do was tease every girl they came into contact with. “Rogers, you’re a dog,” the class’ “massive babe” would say, as he did to three of my friends before me.

Whereas they had comebacks like “Oh stuff it, Alpo Shorts!” or “At least I’m not a hairy-nosed wombat like you!”, I usually just sat there, meek and blushing. Although I sometimes managed a “hush up, silly”, the guy looked at me like I was the Weirdest Girl in Eighth Grade and moved on to hassle Joanne Browsburger.

My initial stumbling fits have not improved greatly with age. Part of my job last summer involved telephone inquiries, a task I managed to botch more than once. I would either freeze mid-sentence, suddenly blank about what I was asking, or bumble over my words and hang up. It got so bad I had to use a script: “Hi. My name is Lynn and I was just wondering if you were interested in ——–.”

I am not good under stress, either. If someone blows their top and yells at me, the last thing I do is stick up for myself. Usually, I just mumble either “yeah, I know” or “garbleblob” and slink out of the room. Self-respect goes out the window, and the intimidation only makes me screw up more. I keep promising myself I’ll make a witty and sarcastic reply, but that never happens.

Coupled with the stammering situation is my annoying habit of apologzing every three minutes. “I’m sorry” spills out of my mouth even when something is not my fault or I am not at all repentant. A person could spill barbecue sauce all over my white pants, and I would insist, “I’m sorry.”

I said it so often at one of my jobs, my manager made me pay him a dollar each time it slipped out. Needless to say, I ended up having to quit—I lost too much money.

I suppose it’s human nature to be inhibited and intimidated in some situations—we can’t be gregarious all of the time. And everybody puts their foot in their mouth once and a while, right?

Yeah, garbleblob.