Ooooops. My bad.

So there I was, innocently minding my own business while having a nice conversation with a co-worker. She was a woman lady female of the opposite sex, and I committed what turned out to be the most unpardonable of sins. As the radio played that incessantly stupid John Mayer song, "Say"... You know the one. He says "Say what you need to say" 40 times, and your brain is so warped by the repetition, you can't even begin to know the rest of the lyrics. Actually, there may not even be any other lyrics. In any event, as I reached for the radio to change the station, I uttered the obviously blasphemous phrase, "Oh my God, John Mayer sucks worse than diarrhea on a camping trip."

Apparently, I had mouthed an affront to every woman on the face of the Earth.

"Oh my God, John Mayer sucks?", said she. "Oh my God, John Mayer sucks?", she said again. I learned several decades ago, when a woman is sending your statements right back at you in a questioning format, you are in deep shit, mister John Mayer hater. Really deep shit.

Look, if the truth be told...he does suck. C'mon now, this guy is a self-proclaimed "rock performer", and he has such sappy shit in his resume as "Fathers don't murder your daughters" or whatever that lame tune is. Each and every song he sings is some lap-dog ballad directly targeting YOU - the American Woman. Now don't get me wrong here, I like a good ballad and I can sing along with plenty of love songs, but for the love of Pete, does EVERY song by this guy have to be that? Evidently, I guess it does. Chris Isaac, step aside.

So in an effort to extricate myself from the hole I had inadvertently gotten myself into, all I proceeded to do was dig deeper...and without a shovel. When I likened Mayer to a 2008 version of Kenny G. and Michael Bolton, I could feel the laser eyes burning an oozing crevice in my neck. Admittedly, I may have gone too far with the John Denver analogy, but she had me cornered and I had conceded that I didn't even want the cheese; I just wanted out of the trap. But that wasn't to be.

So, she said what she needed to say...
said what she needed to say...
said what she needed to say...
said what she needed to say...
said what she needed to say...
said what she needed to say...

In any event, the song finally - mercifully - ended, and I looked at her and said, "Okay, okay. I guess he's not that bad. At least he isn't Seal.

"What the hell is wrong with Seal?", she said.