I've often been told that I have "one of those faces." The kind of face that makes people feel free to tell me their innermost secrets. Once, while sitting on a wall in Boston Common reading a book, a man sat next to me and began to tell me how he was there for a parole hearing for his brother and that he really didn't know if he thought he should get paroled but thought his mom would want him to tell the parole people what they wanted to hear, etc. Another time, I had a woman tell me on the subway in excrutiating detail about her various surgeries. In my effort to be polite, I have been privvy to way too much information.
Last night, when Jeff got home from work, I was about one "Mommy, can I?" away from shot putting Maggie across the room. Jeff gently suggested that I leave the house, telling me that sometimes it's more fun to be around the kids when I'm not there. Never one to let pride get in the way of an escape route, I bolted some dinner and got the hell out of Dodge. Not really having a plan, I went to Kohls. I was just kind of wandering around aimlessly looking at housewares and dreaming of a day when I will have breakable things on end tables, when an employee noticed my slow progress through the aisle.
"Can I help you find something?" she asked.
"No, I'm just enjoying wandering around." I said, "I don't have any kids with me so I'm taking my time." In hindsight, I know that this was my mistake. Giving any additional information is seen as in invitation by crazy people to talk.
"How old are your kids?" she asks. I told her about my circus of kids and predictably, she tells me that I'm going to miss the days when my kids were small. "I know I will." I respond. "But right now, missing my kids sounds like fun." She then tells me that her son is 26 and she misses when he was little. Foolishly, I say, "That's a great age though, I think that's when you start to appreciate your parents." I tried to walk away, but this was the opening she had been waiting for.
"All my son wants to do is get wasted as fast as he can!" she tells me. I looked longingly for an escape route, but shifted my feet and got comfy. Cause there's really no polite way to get out of this conversation. I mean, "Sorry that your son is a wastoid, but could you tell me how much this fingerbowl costs during Kohls PowerHours?" doesn't exactly flow off the tongue. My new friend tells me about how her son was the sweetest five year old who was such a great sharer and a caring boy and now he doesn't care about anything. Her fridge was covered in his artwork. She went on and on and I tried to maintain a neutral look on my face while trying to figure out what I could say to end this conversation and get to the 70% off rack I could see out of the corner of my eye. "Maybe this is the year that he'll pull it together." I say, backing away now. She followed, hanging on my words hopefully. "I know I learned a lot more in my late 20s than I did in my early 20s." Still backing. Finally I hit the hard tile of the main aisle. "Good night, and good luck!" I say waving goodbye.
I guess I could have just not engaged with her at all. The smart thing to do would have been to just say "No" when she asked if I wanted help and then went on. But maybe, our little conversation helped her feel better about something that was obviously bothering her. I hope that I was able to at least make her night go faster. I guess I have one of those faces cause I figure that spending five minutes with a stranger isn't a total waste of time. You never know what people are going to tell you and that's kind of fun, it's like an adventure every time. I come by it honestly, my mom is the same way. Mom struck up a conversation with a man in a bar in Dewey Beach once and it turned out that it was Captain Lou Albano. But that's a whole other blog!
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