Don't Ask...

Sometimes my big ol' mouth gets me into heaps of trouble.

Like, for instance, the time I convinced my first grade teacher that my father really had fallen off the roof and broken his leg.**1

Or, for other instance... today.

When it didn't spin a tale, but instead couldn't keep it's stupid flaphole shut and stop asking questions to which it didn't want an answer.

I was conversing with a coworker who doesn't have a lot of meaningful interactions. She's cornered the market on idle chit-chat, but doesn't really delve into anything deeper than weather or the romance novel she's currently.

Now, normally, this isn't a problem. I'm pretty awesome at words, if I do say so myself. So I thought I could handle whatever this woman could throw at me.

I mean, the last conversation we had was about how she was going to have a chimichanga for lunch. Again.

I could handle whatever she dished out. (Har-de-har. I said dished. Because we were talking about food. It's... whatever.)

I was dreadfully, horribly, scarringly wrong.

But for today, it went like this:

CoWorker: "There's a movie out that I really want to go see."

Sunny: "Oh? What movie is that?"

CoWorker: "It's called 'Hysteria.'

Sunny: "Well that sounds interesting. What's it about?"

<Note: Error #1. I could have nipped this entire conversation in the bud with a little teeny "I've heard of that - it sounds great! I bet you'll enjoy it. Bye, now!" But no. This nincompoop had to show interest. That'll learn me.>

CoWorker: *blush* "Oh! It's about women... You know... *whispers* And the man who invented... umm... vibrators."

Sunny: *speechless*

<Note: Error #2. I could have stopped this here with an "Oh! Well isn't that nice. Have a good lunch break! See you later!" But instead I stood there like a terrified tot who just caught Mommy pretending to be Santa Claus, and Daddy drinking the beer specifically left out for Santa**2.>

CoWorker: You see, in my day, women had 'hysteria.' That's what they called... *pause, look around with a sly grin, lean in to whisper* That's what they called horniness."

Sunny: Um. Well. That will be fun, then.

Next time, we're talking about weather.

THAT'S IT.

**1 - In fact, falling off the roof was one of the only ways he didn't break his leg. My teacher was terribly confused by my story, and my mother's explanation that my father was just fine. On the up side... she never again questioned my ability to write fiction.

**2 Santa drank beer at our house. Don't judge. It went way better with the fruitcake we left for him to eat. And everyone knows that a drunk Santa leaves more presents anyway.