you talk too much

Everywhere I go, people tell me things about themselves. Which I enjoy, for the most part. And although I’m usually a fairly private person (believe it or not), I will occasionally give too much information to someone that I don’t know. I think sometimes, there are certain people that make us feel like we have to explain ourselves.

I hope I am not one of those people. I would prefer to think that others confide in me because I am always honestly interested in other people, and because I have compassion and empathy… Not because they think that they have to justify their actions to me.

But either way, I can relate. Parking in a lot by a bar I asked the attendant if I could leave my truck overnight, if need be. I would have left it at that… But he made wiggled eyebrows at me! Lest he think that I’m a whore of Babylon (or even of downtown Portland), I felt compelled to tack on, “I mean in case I drink (as if there’s any doubt) tonight.”

But it’s really none of his business. And why do I care what he thinks? I don’t care, actually. But it’s that knee-jerk reaction to one raised eyebrow (I can do that too) or a strange look and an awkward pause that always gets me talking.

This week I stopped by a store one afternoon after going to my chiropractor to pick up a couple of things. Apparently, not even our groceries are sacred, or at least not to the guy who accosted me in the booze aisle. “You’re buying sushi… and bourbon?” Again, with the wiggled eyebrows!

And once more, I felt compelled to explain myself, for fear that this complete and total stranger might think I’m a boozehound: “It’s for later.” That just netted me a confused look, so I scampered off to pay, fawn over the cashier (he carded me!) and accept compliments about my faux fur.

I think the reason we feel like we have to give out explanations to random people (who surely don’t really care and probably aren’t even really listening) has something to do with our own moral checks and balances.

I probably shouldn’t be contemplating drinking so much that I won’t want to drive home at the very onset of an evening out with friends. And maybe I shouldn’t be buying a bottle of Basil Hayden’s in the middle of the day.

Or maybe I should just shut up.