Verbal Diarrhea

I have realized that I am an idiot. And that no matter how highly I think of myself, I am in reality a complete and utter bore. I dined last night with a very sweet, nice gentleman. And I did everything in my ability to go and make it memorable for him as the most boring dinner he has ever had. He was very sweet, and I was quite flustered and started to feel tongue-tied. And what else should I do when that happens, but go and blabber on about anything and everything. I started off by talking about my favorite vegetable for goodness’ sake!!! When I told Nisha about this later, she told me I was an idiot. And I agree completely and whole-heartedly with that sensible statement. I felt at the end of the day about twenty times as stupid as Bridget Jones, and about a hundred times less charming. Two words frame it best: Verbal Diarrhea.

Why do I find it so hard to believe that while I might find it fun to be imaginative and wonder what kind of dinosaur I might be if I could be one, no one else wants to think about such ridiculously silly stuff? I want to shake myself and tell myself to grow up. In any case, the gentleman that he was, he pretended very well to enjoy my lousy company (sigh) and indulged all my silly ideas. To me, the dinner was delightful, and a couple of notable things happened. One: I asked him what his favorite question was, and he said it was “Why”. This is interesting re: my last but one blog entry. Two: I am inspired by him to be more spontaneous. Three: I have resolved to shut up and be the personification of composure and sophistication. Goodness! I am doomed!