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Vitamins for Verbal Diarrhea.

May 20, 2010

I wish there was a remedy (caster oil? soap?), a vitamin, a suppressant, something, anything that could cure my chronic diarrhea of the mouth–and I don’t mean that of cussing or swearing.

(One would assume that thinking before one speaks or just plain common sense would suffice. But oh no, this is not so. Not for me.)

I have this problem: While I am an intelligent and thoughtful person, at times I tend to just talk and talk (and talk) and chances are, in an effort to be friendly, conversational and seemingly empathetic, I will say something that I will, in effect, regret and feel terrible about all day long, agonizing over and abhorring the fact that I really just said that.

Like today, when there was a lull in conversation with my friend, I just had to bring up a certain stylings of someone’s hair. While I really, and trust me, really am not one to talk about people’s appearance, this instance was one “hair-don’t” that I could not avoid discussing. A hair style which takes the infamous mullet to new levels.

While from the front, this 40-something woman appears stunning with a very short layered look (think Halle Berry at the Oscars), when she turns around, small children and women of delicate condition in a 50-yard radius are frightened away. At  the back of her head, she has yet more hair, gathered into a very long pony tail, resembling nothing more than a very intense female rat-tail. Eeeeeee!

Can anyone blame me for bringing this up? I mean normally this woman has nice, ordinary hair. But anyhow, back to the point. As I was speaking bluntly (yet hesitantly) about this hair-tastrophe, I knew what I was doing. Talking about things I should probably keep to myself.

Aside from gossiping and telling (some) secrets, there is the other kind of verbal diarrhea that I truly wish to avoid, but, alas, I think I shall suffer from this my whole life; saying AWKWARD things.

Review the  following:

(Let me preface this by saying, I am NOT a drunk. For the record, I am not a big drinker, I am not a party animal, and there’s nothing wrong with a few drinks with friends every now and then…)

On to the story….

After meeting my friend for BYOB dinner at a Thai restaurant, I left and was walking happily to the train on my own, swinging our (mostly empty) bottle of wine (hidden discretely away in a rumpled brown paper bag).

And because Chicago is much smaller than people realize, on my late night return home I ran into, of course, someone from my church choir.

“Oh hiiii,” she says to me, her eyes immediately flash to my “inconspicuous” brown paper bag in my hand. “Going out tonight?” Her voice (so I assume) is tainted with judgement and disdain.

“Oh.. uh..” I stammer, immediately panicking, looking down at the scarlet letter in my hand. “Oh, no, I’m not going out” and then stupidly continuing, “–And I’m not a drunk or anything,” the words just spilling out of my mouth. My face, I’m sure, turning bright, bright red. I keep going, making matters worse, “There’s only like an inch of wine left in here,” as if it makes me seem like less of a drunk.

I will spare you the rest of the details, more so for my sake than for yours. It only gets worse.

Perhaps I have this problem where I am overly conscientious (yet somehow unfiltered) about what I say because when I was little a priest told me that humans should never, never speak unless they had something really really important to say. As a child who believed trolls made wishes come true, I certainly thought this was true as well: speaking was a sin.

And so now, at times, I am just one proVERBIAL mess.

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