So I was chatting with my girlfriend the other day. And, for the sake of protecting the innocent (she, being my gal pal), I’ll refer to her as, um, Barbara Jean.

As Barbara Jean and I engaged in one of our daily breakdown sessions, she happened to mention the off-putting exchange she experienced at her physicians’ office the preceding day.

While she underwent a regular old check-up situation, the assistant tending to the initial part of her assessment remarked on a famous physician giving his most recent national press interview. He may or may not be a high-ranking infectious disease physician who may or may be “top doc” of the pandemic press. And his last name may or may not rhyme with grouchy.

“I hate him,” spat the doctor’s office darling, much to Barbara Jean’s surprise, considering they’d only met minutes before.

Doc helper diplomat that she was, the woman doubled-down with a random though very much highly vocal ponderance of, “And another thing, why didn’t those Russian hackers do anything while Trump was in office, hmm?”

UGH.

I’m all for freedom of speech. It’s one of my absolute favorite of all the freedoms, yo. And I vehemently believe everyone has a God-given (and nationally sanctioned) right to their independent thoughts, opinions and beliefs.

Like, even if they differ from mine. Not that that would make any sense, y’all, but either way.

I kid.

Truth be told, Barbara Jean and I have many, many shared ideas, and just as many diverging ones. Yet we Totes McGotes still deeply love and respect each other, you dig?

Healthy dialogue? Good. Informative debate? Even better. Clumsily, recklessly, wantonly offending anyone and everyone who doesn’t specifically align with your point of view? Just NO.

Sure the masks are coming off — but it doesn’t mean the gloves have to, capisce? Ay, ay, ay!

Topping your spud with bacon, cheese, sour cream, butter, chives, jalapenos and maybe even a dollop of PB&J may acceptable in today’s open society, but loaded political statements? Well, those’ll lead you straight to the crapper, a’ight?

Then again, so might a loaded baked potato with PB&J. I digress.

Without further ado, I give you stuff you probably shouldn’t say to a total stranger.

• “When is your baby due?” Never. Never, ever, ever, ever, ever ask a woman this — unless she’s in active labor in the hospital bed next to you.

• “Oh, you’re still single? So, why aren’t you married at your age?” Fastest way to either a black eye or a sob-fest. And you’re gonna be on the receiving end of either / both, fer sure.

• “Do you not like kids or something?” Some creep-jerk ogres, um, I mean, people, simply don’t. Let. It. Go.

• “Nice car! How much money DO you make, anyway?” Just skip this question and go right for the jugular by asking for a copy of last year’s W-2. Hello? Nunya bizness.

SIGH.

Let’s keep the political commentary on a need-to-know basis in public, shall we?

Because we could all stand to be a little less offended by any and everything, and I’m probably guiltier than most. READ: Insecurity — it’s not just what’s for dinner (and lunch and breakfast). Don’t judge.

But could we also take a tip from Thumper’s mama and say nothin’ at all if we can’t say somethin’ nice?

• Kimerer is a columnist hoping everyone got that last joke. Check out her other lame puns, etc., at www.patriciakimerer.com.