I know I seem to complain about The Home way too much. The Home just happens to be my primary story line. It’s my personal soap opera. Some times I feel like I am standing apart or even above and looking down on the people and trying to move them and their decisions with my own body movement. I hold my breath when I sense an explosive comment is coming. I tighten my fists as I tense for them. I lean from side to side. I furrow my brow. I make strange faces. Nothing helps.
Several are predictable in their responses. When Hazel hears Chas raise his voice and make a sarcastic remark her smile disappears. She grinds her teeth, Chas says things as a joke, but his tone is one of anger. I tense and wish I could have stopped that before it happened.
Today I got caught with one of our three nonstop talkers. You know the type. Once they start you could sit back and read a book. You are no longer vital to the conversation. There are no questions, no pauses and at times I wonder if they ever take a breath. You must interrupt if you want to say something. However, your comments are superfluous. So why say anything. You will not change the direction of the speech. You are there as the audience. They are the featured guest speaker and they will make eye contact to make sure you are paying attention. Turning your head and starring off into space only causes them to make a comment directly to you that demand a “humm” or an “ummum” or some other nondescript, non-word response.
In truth, the only way to end the conversation is to find away to leave. Today’s nonstop talker rarely says much of anything. She will get off on one tiny little topic and wander through the entire topic and subtopics of the topic. I confess. I grew up in the Midwest, almost the exact middle. It was the largest city in the state. When I was young there was a stockyard. The city was known for great steaks. The first time I ever ate in a restaurant was before a big dance at the grand ballroom. I was a little embarrassed because I knew so little about eating our in a fancy place. Why would there be two forks? A real puzzlement! I knew the word salad, but never had one. So when I was asked about a dressing I didn’t have a clue. My date ordered oil and vinegar, so I oldered the same. It was awful.
I was stopped right there in my story and Miss Never-ending-story-teller took over. She had lived in the same town several years after I had left. She treated us to a grand tour of the city restaurants. Where they were, how there were decorated, the types of food they prepared, her meal in particular, who she was with, what they were out doing, where they went later and on and on and on. I was surprised there were no fashion descriptions. One had a red carpet. Forty-Five minutes later I was tired of the grand tour. I know I have missed twenty minutes or so. My head was nodding appropriately – I think. I managed to squeeze in an “I must be going.” Hazel jumped in to help me make a gracious exit by adding that we had been there three hours and were pretty tired. We both escaped with that sign off.
Miss Non-stop-talker usually works, but with tomorrow being a holiday, she will be here. She asked what time we would be down for coffee. I think I will skip coffee tomorrow.
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