It FELT like my business

I’m just an utter turd waffle sometimes

Yesterday I literally accosted a woman, who did not know me, with details of her own private life that I’d learned through gossip. 

One of my friends had a book release yesterday, and I attended with an extremely foggy brain but a pridefully constructed “literary” outfit.  And I saw her, who I knew so well by reputation. She and I were bizarrely interconnected. Bizarrely and barely, but I forgot that last part. I also completely forgot her life was none of my business, because , so help me, it felt like my business.

One of my friends is dating her ex. Her ex has a reputation for being awful, so there had been drama around my friend’s relationship (none of which had anything to do with this lady.) Also, peripherally, this woman has a personal issue with one of my very good friends.

“…and that’s why I think we should move in together!!!”

And I backed her into a corner and vomited forth everything I knew about her. Two minutes of a rapid breathing spitfire of personal invasion. In a hissing little whisper so no one would overhear what I apparently considered was very personal business between the two of us.

This is how I fucking introduce myself to people.

In my mind, since she had a daughter my daughter’s age, and we both liked books, perhaps we were going to be friends! So I figured I’d better skip over the pleasantries and take any awkwardness head on. In fact, even better, create hole new VATS of awkwardness to slog through, thus cementing our friendship! YAY!

She listened to me with the expression one gives a passionately rambling mental patient.

This face.

I came home and left a trail of the writerly outfit I’d worn, piece by piece across my floor. My husband found me in my underwear on our enormous bed, moaning, calling myself an absolute turd waffle and a social toilet pail. I make up the best swears when I’m in despair.

He intermittently laughed at me and comforted me. He tried to explain my lack of filter and guard with some horrendous analogy of Stalin vs. Hitler. I think I was Hitler, which he said was a good thing. God who understands the analogies of a political science major.

He pointed out that my mother had no filter, and neither did my little daughter (the child spent last weekend chasing down people outside the Roth’s, screaming ‘IF YOU DON’T BUT GIRL SCOUT COOKIES NOW IT’LL BE YOUR ONLY CHANCE! YOUR ONLY CHANCE!!!”) So it was in the genes.

I will spend the rest of my days in this town avoiding this woman. An apology would just be one more layer of pathetic. Besides I think I already gave her like four in the original conversation. “Is this awkward? Gosh I’m probably totally embarrassing myself right now ha ha!” And kept going.

I just keep going!

3 thoughts on “It FELT like my business

  1. Oh, Therese, you are not alone. I hate it when I get nervous and won’t stop talking. And I hate even worse when I do the replay in my head, over and over and over again, long after whoever I accosted has forgotten the entire episode. Turd waffles unite! (Or not. Is that weird?)


  2. I read this at an opportune moment (I have a job interview today)–and I’m reminded that the best response is, all too often, TO SIT THERE AND BE QUIET. (Almost impossible for me.) I’m sure more of us writhe in white-hot horror, after the fact, about things we SAID, than about things we DIDN’T say. This is why scripts (and comments on posts) are so much better than actual conversations: rewrites! Off I go–lip buttoned!


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