“You’ve got total verbal diarrhoea, you know,” said a friend of mine, affectionately.
“I’m sorry, WHAT?!” I was horrified.
I do NOT. I am a model of understated, minimalist speech. I consider every word that comes out of my mouth.
Oh, ok then. I’ve got verbal diarrhoea. I should be in head nappies.
The problem I’ve got is that everything sounds really funny and clever and wise while it’s still in my head. The words jump up and down, begging to be born, promising to massively improve the world if I’d only let them out. And to be fair, sometimes that happens. Other times, not so much.
I think the worst of it is when I’m hitting the dating world (and I’m once again gloomily contemplating that, more in another post). I know the damn drill. You meet someone. You have a date – sometimes a lovely, funny, spectacularly awesome date. And at the end of it, when you’re standing in front of your place, doing that goofy pre-kiss shuffle and grin at each other, you’re meant to do the following:
Awesome Guy: So, shall we do this again?
You: Mm. Maybe sometime. I’m super busy for the next few days.
Then you run a perfectly manicured nail along his jawline, give him an air kiss and drift away in a palpable cloud of ‘Whatevs – I’ll have forgotten your name by the time I’ve opened the front door’.
All of this is meant to leave your date in a state of eye-bulging, passionate desire to see you again. It says so in ‘The Rules’ and everything. Though personally, I think it just makes you look like an asshole.
And it just doesn’t work for me. I have little, stumpy nails for a start. And I’m paranoid that if I suddenly raise a hand to his face and poke a finger at him he’ll rear back in horror, trying to protect his vulnerable eyes ( I don’t blame you, Fantasy Awesome Guy – I’m pretty uncoordinated).
No, when I’m crushing on someone, people know about it. Like my friends and my family and the guy I buy my coffee from. And the bus driver on my route. In fact, possibly the bus drivers on all the other routes in Sydney.
And worst of all, the guy in question knows it. Unequivocally, completely, without doubt knows it. However much time I spend on crafting light and humorous texts, designed to make him laugh and show what an awesomely cool chick I am, I really might as well save the effort and just put a few rows of that creepy emoticon with the heart shaped eyes because for sure that’s what it’s translating as.
So, yes. I’ll own the fact that I’m a blabbermouth. I’m sorry, whoever I end up with, you poor, poor thing. It’s true you’ll have to deal with the fact that your girlfriend approaches life with the enthusiasm of a puppy jumping legs at a party. But as a side benefit, you’ll never have to ask me what I’m thinking 😉