This was totally going to be a great blog entry. But then I ran out of time and if I don't post it now, I'll never post anything, and at least this way it qualifies as blodding more. Ha. If only exercising more were that easy. I picked up my bridesmaid dress for Sarah's wedding. It's two sizes bigger than it should be (although she did mention that it was measuring small for everyone). It fits about the same as when I tried it on. I was hoping it would be loose(r). Oh well. I do still have three months. Although then I would have to pay for alterations. Uh, anyway. Here's the start of the blog entry.
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It is interesting what people say when they’re afflicted with verbal diarrhea. (I include myself in that. Sometimes I find myself shaking my head walking away from a conversation. WHY did I just say that?) This morning at the gas station, there was a woman filling up in front of me who had a Toyota SUV. She came back to ask me if I liked my Jeep. It turns out she’s getting divorced and she still has the same car – a ’96 – that she had before she was married, and her husband kept getting all these trucks. He was a redneck, and he drove a Ford F250. She would like to treat herself to something SHE wants, given the divorce. She used to live at the beach and she always wanted a Jeep, and she’s been talking to people who drive cars she likes. She always wanted a four-door Jeep Wrangler. She needs to haul things, like heavy bales of hay. She has an alpaca. She has an eight-year-old adopted son who’s autistic. He still rides in his car seat. She used to be a paramedic. She thinks mini cars are deathtraps, especially with all the rednecks who live up by us. All that in the five minutes (and it was probably less than that) that it took to fill up my gas tank.
This woman seemed perfectly nice. I didn’t mind talking to her at all. But that’s A LOT of information to tell a random stranger. I tend to acquire verbal diarrhea when talking to acquaintances. It’s like something takes hold of me and I have to fill the silence somehow. For instance, I told virtually no one that I was pregnant last year. People close to me knew, and some folks in Ireland who wanted to know why I wasn’t drinking, and that guy at the Total Wine store who wanted to know why on earth I was buying alcohol free wine. Actually, maybe more people knew than I thought. Anyway, I digress. I didn’t really want to tell anyone I was pregnant, in case something happened. But then, something happened and now I just tell people (who really don’t need to know) that I had a miscarriage.
