Every time a conversation turns to talking about the weather, it’s a sure-fire sign that the two conversationalists have nothing in common.  I don’t know where I heard that one but it’s true. Conversations that start with how’s the family and then spiral into the weather fully indicate you have little else to share.  Now I’m not suggesting one starts a conversation with I’ve got a yeast infection but when you start saying things like if ya don’t like the weather today wait until tomorrow be clear that the show is over.  Curtain down.  

I remember once bumping into a rather loose acquaintance where the conversation started off with I haven’t see you in years, to which I was recalling all the reasons that might be.  Umm, the last time we saw each other you tried to hit on me or the last time we had dinner together you said you’d leave the tip and when I went back to the table to retrieve my cell there wasn’t a dime left behind and you were already in the car.  These things accumulate as does our intolerance.  

Some people call it cocktail conversation.  Well when I’m cocktailing I rarely find myself at a loss for subject matter.  It might get dicey for some, but your ears will be fully employed.  

Bank on it.  

Others call it chit-chat and it’s the worst.  You find yourself so disengaged with the flow of things that your brain is in overdrive trying to concoct new subject matter.  Well we all know politics is completely off base as is most of the truth of what’s really going on in your life.  So you end up saying things like looks like snow.  

Now some blabber mouths can go on and on and on about things they’ve already told you ten times and the nice part of you nods and listens.  Well let’s be clear, at age sixty five that gene shrivels up and you have to just walk away.  I exercise stuff like oh I just remembered I left my hearing aids in the car.  Or maybe just pass gas.  If someone is assaulting your air space, it’s fair game to invade theirs.  My brother has the same lack of tolerance for forced chatting and I’m certain we inherited this from our very dry and to the point father.  

Definitely not our mother may she rest in her version of peace.  Janet could talk and talk and talk and it was usually interesting as I was amazed how she bridged talking about gardening into gastrointestinal issues.  Seamless transitions.  In her years of decline, we had a standing Monday night call.  I’d call around 8:15 because I knew her nightly meds were served at 9:00 and man she couldn’t click me off any quicker, many times without a sign off.  Just a click.  She once asked me if I’d been drinking to which I answered that I hadn’t.

Janet:  Jeffrey do me a favor and have a couple of glasses of wine then call me back.  You’re much more interesting.

Absolutely word for word truth.  And not just one. Apparently it takes a couple to get me warmed up.  Now drunk dialing and moi have some history and it doesn’t help that alcohol clearly encourages what you really think. That’s when chit-chat turns to potential defamation of character.  I get it and take no offense to anyone ignoring a call from me after 9:00 PM.  It doesn’t deter me whatsoever. I’ll go straight to your voicemail and leave a zinger.  It’s one of my favorite things to do.  

So don’t take that away from me.  

If I have to endure one’s boring repetitive crap, it’s fair game I get to leave a set of standup to accompany your morning coffee.  

Click.