The other day, I listened in shock as the most ill-considered gossip tripped off my tongue. Seriously, if I took up chewing tobacco, my mouth would still be using its time better than that.
Why don’t I just zip my lip? It occurred to me that being a writer is part of the problem. I love stories, especially ones with a beginning, middle, and end. Especially ones with compelling characters, interesting plots, and a great twist at the end. A part of me threatens to pop, if I know a fantastic story, but I can’t tell it.
Please don’t stop talking to me once you’ve read this! I have a plan. Copenhagen may be the answer. Or maybe Bubblicious.
This blog brought to you by a cat that wanted out at 4:43 a.m.
I have the exact same problem! Add to that, I'm a fairly empathetic listener and tend to invite a LOT of confidences, and I'm fairly well bursting with stories I can't tell (and, err, sometimes DO).
ReplyDeleteMany thanks to your cat, who helped you help me smile this morning. It's nice to feel less freakish, after all.
I hope not to often, but I do catch myself in horror wondering why I repeated something. It's a good reminder to keep my pie-hole closed.
ReplyDeleteOn my wall is a poster, Advice from a Tree, "You'll never look stupid if you stay quiet." And gossiping makes us all look stupid.