I would like an opportunity to explain myself to the waiter who served my wife and me on Saturday when my debit card was declined:

It's not that I don't have the money. I have money, trust me. I've got money coming out me ears.

OK, that was an absolute lie. But I do have enough money to pay for dinner at a moderately priced Italian restaurant.

My card was declined because my bank is overprotective. Its managers read that story last week about credit information of 40 million people falling into the wrong hands, and decided to issue a load of new cards. The card I gave you, Mr. Waiter, was my old card. I don't yet have the new card, and that's why my wife had to pay with her credit card.

See? That's a perfectly acceptable explanation. So you can just stop with your shifty eyes and looking at me as if you are helping me out by not drawing attention to my embarrassing situation.

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Of course, I was not able to offer this explanation to the waiter in person, because, as I say, he was too busy avoiding eye contact and trying to stay near the fire exit so as to block our route of escape should my wife and I try to flee without paying.

This sort of thing happens to me a lot. I often find myself in an embarrassing or uncomfortable situation and wish that I could stop everything and just explain myself.

"Mrs. Lady Standing Behind Me In Line At The Gas Station, I want you to know that I am aware my body odor is insufferable. I don't usually smell this way, honest. It's just that today I was helping a friend move. Right now I am on my way home to take a shower."

"The wet stain on the front of my shorts is not what you think it is, Ms. Cute Girl Who Is Staring At Me While I Run. I was hot, so I ran through a sprinkler."

"I realize, Mr. Owner Of The Company I Work For, that I was using every profanity I know right as you were leading a group of clients past my desk. But I want you to know that I was only doing this to amuse my co-workers. And you always say that it's important for us to have good morale."

Think of all the trouble and frustration we could avoid if the world would allow us to take a few minutes to offer full disclosure. Similarly, it would be nice to be able to demand an honest explanation from some people.

"Hey there, Mr. Eats Nothing But Taco Bell, I can see a direct connection between your eating habits and your always complaining about your health. Why can't you see it?"

"I'm confused, Mr. Talking To Me In A Public Restroom, as to why are you not picking up from my body language that I don't really want to have a conversation right now."

"That was a fancy move, Mr. Shoot Across Three Lanes Of Traffic And Endanger Dozens Of Lives Just So You Can Get A Car Length Ahead. But why'd you do it? You only moved about 12 feet. Surely that can't be worth the effort."

A little bit of explanation could go a long way. On the other hand, it could backfire completely. This would be especially true for males, who often do things that are, at their core, inexplicable. Our attempts to offer rational explanation would only anger our interrogators further.

For example, imagine if Zoe Stornoway, the girl with whom I almost went to the senior prom in high school, showed up at my door.

ZOE: "So, you know that thing you did -- breaking up with me after I had purchased my prom dress? Explain that. What was going through your head there?"
ME: "Uhm. I don't know."
ZOE: "Nah. Surely you have a good explanation. I'd like to know."
ME: "Uhm. I'm dumb."
ZOE: "Yes, I know that. But there's got to be more to it."
ME: "Nope. That's about it. I'm dumb. Ask my wife."
WIFE: "He is. The other day he was angry, so he threw his keys at the window. Fortunately he didn't break anything because he throws like a wuss. But how could he possibly see any good coming out of throwing pieces of metal at glass? What did he expect to accomplish?"
ZOE: "Wow. He is dumb! You have my sympathies."
WIFE: "Thanks. I'm surprised he hasn't set himself on fire."
ME: "I just got my hand stuck in the toaster."

Actually, the more I think about it, perhaps some things are better left unsaid. Especially when those things unsaid are confessions of my ignorance. Silence, they say, is golden.

Sure, there will be occasional embarrassing moments, a few instances of confusion or frustration, but who cares what that waiter thinks? Not me, that's for sure.

No, I'm not bothered at all. Although, if he's reading this, I want him to know that I really did have the money.

No, really.

Chris Cope is married, with no children. His column appears every other Tuesday.