It has taken me most of my life to realize I have a tendency
to talk too much.
Sure, there have been plenty of hints over the years (like when a politician, of all people, asked me if I had an "off" button!), but I
probably was talking too much to hear anything.
I'd honestly thought it was an adult-onset problem, but I
found my old kindergarten report-card the other day and the teacher had checked
"no" under the question, "Pays attention and is quiet while
others are talking?" So I figure it's highly probable I've been cursed with a motor-mouth ever since the first moment I emerged from the womb.
Not only do I talk too much, I have a bad habit of blurting
out things I shouldn't. For example,
one time when my husband and I were out shopping for a new car and finally
found one we really liked, I couldn't stop gushing about it during the test
drive.
"Oooh! I love it!" I practically squealed.
"This is the perfect car for us!
We just HAVE to buy it!"
My husband kept casting sideways glances at me that clearly
told me to be quiet, but I couldn't figure out why he didn't want the sales guy
in the backseat to hear how excited I was about the car.
When we got back to the lot, my husband took me aside and
whispered to me, "Stop talking about how great the car is! You have to sound indifferent, otherwise we
won't be able to talk him down on the price. Every time you 'oohed' and 'aahed'
in the car, I saw dollar signs pop up in his eyes!"
And just the other day, I was in the local hardware store
and the guy in line behind me – a giant of man wearing a baseball cap and dark glasses – was standing
there holding a big axe. Immediately I
thought, just by his stance, how much he looked like an axe-murderer.
"So, what're you going to do with the body?" I asked him.
Luckily, the guy had a good sense of humor or he probably
would have used the axe to hack off my tongue out in the parking lot.
And then there was the time I went for a job interview. I was understandably nervous, so I rambled
on and on as the employer just sat there silently staring at me. Finally, I ran out of the things to say.
The employer still remained silent.
"Is something wrong?" I asked him.
"No," he said, shaking his head and sighing. "I was just wondering when you
were going to come up for air."
And whenever I go to the bank to cash a check, I have the
bad habit of chatting with the tellers when they are trying to count money.
I’ll say something like, "I’m running late today. I
have to be in Manchester at 1:15.”
And the teller will say, "Twenty, twenty-one...fifteen dollars."
For this reason, I probably hold a world's record for
getting back the wrong amount of money during bank transactions.
My dentist is another one who probably wishes I'd shut
up...at least long enough to let him work on my teeth. I've noticed that when
I'm really in a chatty mood, he'll keep stuffing dental instruments and cotton
into my mouth until I can't talk any more without choking. But even then, I still somehow manage to
squeeze out a few muffled words.
I remember when I had dental impressions taken for some
crown work and had to sit there with my mouth full of the gooey impression stuff
for five minutes while it hardened. The
dentist commented, "This is the longest I've ever heard you be
quiet!"
The problem is, when I try to be silent, people think I'm
sick.
"Gee, you're awfully quiet tonight," they'll say.
"Are you feeling okay?"
One night, when my husband was trying to concentrate on a
documentary on the History Channel, I sat there chatting endlessly about paint
colors for the kitchen. Finally,
during a commercial, he turned to me and said, "I wonder if there's such a
thing as a local chapter of Overtalkers Anonymous?"
I cast him my fiercest glare. "Maybe you'd be happy if I just have
my lips stapled shut!"
I barely could hear him when he muttered under his breath,
"With my luck, you'll take up ventriloquism."
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