… that my smart mouth has always caused me trouble:

I remember a spring break in college. We were loading up for Padre Island, a friend named Chip Anderson and a buddy of his I hadn’t met before. The new guy, Roger, was fresh out of the military. Not a grunt, mind you. He had been a drill instructor. He was one of those guys you knew could snap your neck in a dozen different ways … and maybe he would, if he felt like it.

Chip started out driving, and I piled into the back seat. We headed south, Chip and Roger talking up front. I just listened, tossing in comments now and then. I was always giving Chip a hard time, and I was getting braver with the new guy.

But I finally said something that really got under Roger’s skin, and he dressed me down like I was one of his recruits. He called me, “Son.”

God help me, I swear it popped out before I could stop it: “Look, buddy … you ain’t good lookin’ enough to be my mama … and you ain’t man enough to be my daddy … so don’t call me ’son.’”

Turns out, this big guy didn’t have a sense of humor, but Chip did, and he cajoled Roger back into a good mood.

We all make many mistakes, but those who control their tongues can also control themselves in every other way. (James 3:2 NLT)

Words to live by. I gotta work on that.