Family Curse

We have a family curse. Not as impressive as lycanthropy or second sight, in fact kind of the opposite of second sight, more of a (I shouldn't have done that in) hindsight. Some would call it a genetic predisposition to blurt out witticisms before considering any possible consequences. But the level of co-incidence required for them to go as horribly wrong as they do is where the curse comes in to play.
Case in point; Knickers and I were at a party, sitting next to each other but talking to others, after a while Knickers leans over and taps my arm:

'Remember that guy that drove us home from the party the other week?'

(I did, the bloke had been a dickhead. Who wears a Jim Beam jacket?)

'Yeh. Dickhead. What about him?'

beat

'This is his brother.'

My brother Ben is the truly gifted one though. A couple of years ago my Aunty Maureen and Uncle Tony were over from NSW and we had a family dinner up at Dad's. Ben was was still working as a chef then and had flogged some deserts to bring up.
'Who'd like some tart?' he asked.
'Tony loves his tart,' said Aunty Maureen.
'Give it a rest woman. It was back in 1977 - would you just let it go,' joked Ben.

What he didn't know was what Dad had confessed to me the previous evening over several bottles of red. That Uncle Tony - one-eyed Uncle Tony mind - had had an affair back in....1977. Gasp!

'What's that supposed to mean?' snapped Maureen. You could see the confusion on Ben's face, possibly the hairs on the back of his neck were starting to prick up. Not again.
'Just a joke. You know, tart.' And there was nothing I could, or would, do to help him without revealing that I actually did know about the affair.

Some of his other notable incidents include:
The 'how was I to know they were German?' debacle.
And the 'Oh, you're really Kate Fischer's father?' affair.