Please Stop Talking

That would be me.  Speaking to myself.

Please, Annie.  Please.  Stop.  Talking.

It happens often.  I start ‘sharing’ and just can’t stop.  Can’t make my mouth close for a minute.  Unable to give my mind a second to decipher if this is information I truly need to allow to pour out of my mouth.

The other night we were at a dinner party with family and old family friends.  My uncle and dad were telling hilarious stories.  Everyone was laughing.  Grabbing another beer.  Resting back in their chairs.  Enjoying the evening.  Clearly ready to stay for awhile.

Until I decided I should join in the fun.

My husband looked at me pleadingly, his eyes saying, Please don’t tell this story, Annie.

And then I’m pretty sure he actually said aloud, Please don’t tell this story, Annie.

I was mixing up facts from the beginning.  Turning a 30 second story into a 5 minute tale.  Continuing even though I could tell I had never quite grabbed my audience was losing my audience.

My husband, again with sinking shoulders and pleading eyes, Please, Annie.  It’s not as funny as you think.  This really isn’t a funny story.  It’s actually upsetting, more than anything.

But I couldn’t stop.

And the silence all around me while I told this long, ‘hysterical’ tale was deafening.

And the sound of chair legs scraping on the floor as each guest suddenly uttered a reason why it was time for them to head home?  Also deafening.

Oops.

A reaaaaal mood killer, that Annie.

Then I did it again today, not but two days later.

Dropping Carlitos off at pre-school I had to explain to his teacher that he would not be at school on Wednesday.

We are going to see family.  Well, it’s business, too, really.  I am throwing a party.  That is one of my new business venture:  I throw parties.  Jewelry Parties, I mean.  I mean, my Mother-in-Law is throwing it, but I need to be there with the jewelry.  Have to take the boys with me…you know.  So, it is really a family visit AND a business trip.  I know he missed school on Friday, but that was to see my parents.  Both sets of grandparents in one week!  Crazy, huh?!  But it had to be this date.  Have to work!  You understand.  I’m sorry he has to miss school. I sucked my thumb until I was 6.

Wow.

Seriously?

Alright, I didn’t say that last sentence.  But I did pretty much say everything else.  And I am also pretty sure that at some point in my life I have told someone I sucked my thumb until I was 6. at a time when it was entirely inappropriate and awkward for me to do so.

All she did was double check that she had understood my email correctly that he would not be in school on Wednesday.  That is all.

But I can’t give a simple, Yes, that’s correct.

Nope.  Not me.  I have to talk and talk and talk and talk until I realize that the person to whom I am speaking is looking at me with their head slightly cocked and a faint demonstration of pain on their face.

Will she ever stop speaking?  Does she really think I need to know all of this awkward, personal and long-winded information?

And that, my friends, is why I blog.

I’m hoping, to put it beautifully and eloquently, that diarrhea of the keyboard will ultimately cure me of my extreme case of diarrhea of the mouth.