Every once in a while I am reminded why I am perfectly content as an introvert.
When I finally do get a wild hair and feel like being social, I head straight to a bar. I love the idea of being served whatever suits me that evening and talking to one of my handful of close friends.
At a trendy new bar, my friend and I were well on our way and deep in conversation when two of her friends sat down next to us. (I could go on about why extroverts are never happy one-on-one and always have to waylay you with surprise guests, but that's a topic for another post.) In a single breath, one of them ordered a martini up and slightly dirty and then seamlessly, while waiting for the concoction to be poured, launched into a narrative about how little Johnny has been giving his hapless day care provider fits by squatting in the corner instead of using the potty. Please help me wrap my mind around how these subjects can live in the same moment. Actually, never mind - that's a rhetorical question as the answer would possibly bore me more than the original, real-time account of the potty debacle.
It went on from there. More Johnny stories. Many more. It's a horrible affliction that otherwise normalish people are cursed with, yet utterly oblivious to. How awful would it be to not get how annoying your stories are to others? (Sidenote: why are bores so loud?) I realize I am likely just as annoying in some other way, but I know it's not driveling on endlessly about my kids. It may be the fierceness with which I'll protect my free time. Or my mile-wide, three foot deep sarcastic streak. Perhaps its the furtive way I'll ask questions designed to put the onus for keeping the conversation going on you, so that I don't have to talk. Notice though, that I'll NEVER ask about your kids over a cocktail. Never.
When people (me) are out having martinis or any other fun, they (I) don't want to talk about your kids. Period. No exceptions. No innocuous teething quips, no day-care conundrums, no diaper mishaps. Ever.
The next time you start down this long, irksome road, please look around and notice that I am poking myself in the eye with my swizzle stick and trying to lodge my olive crosswise.
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