Would You Shut Up Already

Why do people talk so much? I’m amazed at how often someone traps me into an endless, one-sided conversation.

My friend Amy says, it’s like all you are is one big ear. 2862211384_e5bb0bdc43 If they could they’d lop it off and just attach it to their iPod.

It happened this morning while running and I so tried avoiding this person who’s a very boring weatherman. Shit, I thought when I saw him trundling towards me. Why didn’t I bring my phone. A gal pal of mine taught me a little trick. If there’s someone you’re trying to avoid or get away from, you just pretend to get a call. “Excuse me, but I have to take this.” Love that, but sadly one does need a phone to pull it off.

He sidled beside me never shutting up for forty fucking minutes. Imagine Muzak in shorts.

When I finally escaped it got me thinking. Who was the very first babbler in my life?

Ann Raider, that’s who. She was twelve and I eleven and lived in the haunted house on the corner of Beechmont and Main Street. Some German scientist had lived and died there and rumor had it once in a while he’d still pop in the kitchen for a beer. You can understand why I never had a sleepover at Ann’s house. He’s harmless, Ann would say and always wears his bathrobe.

Her mother raised prized poodles that competed in the local dog show with names like, Little Lord Fauntleroy and Bell Tor Beck Beck. They also had those weird cuts that made them look like neurotic figure skaters (boy, did I just pop a file). Mrs. Raider only wore vintage Chanel suits with moth holes and was so bow-legged you could have ridden your bike between her legs. She had a sister named Candy who used to steal road signs for a hobby. When you walked into her room you were met by a huge yellow yield sign and a placard that said…MEN AT WORK.

Ann was very well-endowed for a twelve year old…buxom, my mother called it. “That Ann is certainly very buxom,” she’d say every time Ann came over. I thought it meant she was good at volleyball and no one told me differently. Her father was a traveling salesman for Warner Bras so one could say Ann was also well-supported.

Ann talked a lot, actually she never stopped talking and it was always about boys. Puberty hit her early and she was off to the races leaving me and my dolls in her dust.

When I think about it, Camille talks a lot. She can do an hour easily on a dress she saw: what it looked like, why it’s worth eight hundred bucks, why she should buy it and who would look positively terrible in it. By the time she’s through you expect it to have a name like Dot or Min.

“Will Dot be joining us Camille?”

“No, fraid not, she’s still at the tailors.”

On occasion I do tell Camille to shut-up but not very often. She’s at least interesting and more than a little entertaining, but that weatherman should just stick to rain and snow because when you see him coming even the sun makes a beeline behind the clouds.

SB

About Susannah Bianchi

I'm just a girl who likes to write slightly on slant. I've had a career in fashion, dabbled in film and to be honest, I don't like talking about myself. Now my posts are another matter so I will let them speak for themselves. My eBooks, A New York Diary, Model Behavior: Friends For Life and Notes From A Working Cat can be found on Amazon.com. Thanks.
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18 Responses to Would You Shut Up Already

  1. micklively says:

    “Muzak in shorts” is poetry gold, Susannah.
    I think you’re a little unfair to poor Ann. You’d babble too (or gibber?), if you lived in a haunted house. πŸ˜‰

    Like

    • I really remember what it looked like. it sat on a hill…I mean, it truly resembled one and it was multi-storied with the kitchen upstairs…very odd…and it was a muted red color…you know how long ago that was? Hardly know what happens hourly but 50 years ago, like it was yesterday.

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  2. skinnyuz2b says:

    I used to blabber when I was nervous or insecure. Luckily I was made aware of this by a one-time date who politely asked, “Don’t you ever shut up?”
    My favorite ear-benders are the ones who start to tell me a long winded story that I’ve already been bored with more than once. I cut right in and remind them that they’ve already told me this. And they never stop spurting the third or fourth rendition. I know it’s rude or unkind, but sometimes I start telling the story right along with them. We take turns reciting the lines. And Susannah, it DOESN’T faze them.

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    • Like in that Lucy episode when she mimics Ethel at their bridge club. I know…people who talk just talk…and if you’re like me, pretty shy and silent, boy…do they love you since you never interrupt. Have to hone that phone trick πŸ™‚

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  3. I am crying at the walking ear or shall I say my profile picture. I must wonder if some of us have the words “good listener” or “polite listener” written on our faces for all the blabbers to see….it’s a thought. Just the other night my hubby and I were at the park with Peanut and I was stopped to endure the story of “skippy” who died 30 years ago, but resembled Peanut. I wasn’t even walking Peanut, my hubby was, yet he escaped the conversation.

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  4. katecrimmins says:

    I just love your descriptors! It’s makes your writing so fun. About the yapping, there is a woman I avoid at the gym because she just babbles. It’s all about herself. I don’t know her and could care less and find myself nodding my head endlessly. People probably think I have a neurological disorder from the head bobbing.

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    • I do that too. One tries to be polite, why I don’t know exactly, but we do. I remember telling a woman I couldn’t hear her. It was when my hearing was really bad and she said, “That’s okay,” and kelp yakking. I’m telling you…Amy’s right, all that want is a big ear of their very own.

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  5. D. D. Syrdal says:

    My ex-boss, HMFIC, was like that. One day he’d spent 30 solid minutes at the manager’s cube across from mine, bending the poor woman’s ear about the trees in his backyard. Finally *I* couldn’t take it anymore, and surreptitiously dialed Other Manager’s phone from my desk, knowing HMFIC would walk away if the phone rang. It worked, he did, and Other Manager came over and thanked me πŸ˜‰ There’s no getting a word in edgewise with that guy, even a muttered ‘mmm-hmm’ will be cut off. I just don’t get it.

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    • That was sort of like the phone trick. Love that. My big question is…don’t they know how obnoxious they’re being? Has no one ever told them…a husband, a co-worker…even one of your kids. Hey daddy, shut the fuck up will ya πŸ™‚

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      • D. D. Syrdal says:

        Apparently not. They’re so self-absorbed I’m sure it’s never occurred to them that anyone would not want to listen to them. HMFIC also loved the sound of his own voice & liked to tell anyone who would listen he had done voiceovers and stand-ins, and what a great voice he had for radio…blahblahblah…

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      • He needs a muzzle. Anyone around there with a dog?

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  6. Patricia says:

    I can ramble on with the best of them. I am a quiet person but sometimes when I get going there is no stopping me. Drives me crazy.

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  7. kerrycooks says:

    Fantastic post Susannah! When I’m in a conversation, I try to ask questions and remind myself not to ramble on, shame everyone doesn’t do the same!

    Like

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