Gift of Gab

I’m sorry, it’s just my tendency. I have a habit of getting carried away.

You say I have problems listening, but you’re wrong, it’s just that I can’t hear you over the sound of my own voice. If you wouldn’t always insist on talking when I’m talking, we could hear each other. I kid, of course, still…

You say I cut you off, but we both know, I just make timely edits. You really should be thanking me, not everybody has a fisherman like me to to pull in their  loquaciousness. Sometimes less is more.

And you know I’m a rabid social creature. It’s in my blood, like malaria or something. You’ve met my mother, she has a mouth that’s a perpetual motion machine. Me too. I absolutely quiver with the gift of gab.

Especially when I’m drunk… there’s  no stopping the eloquence that billows out of the elixir-opened chambers, if I may toll my own bell… it’s like an endless salad bar of storytelling and wordplay… a giant, woozy wassail… whoo-wee.

My speech has no manners. That’s a good one, I’ve got to remember that one.

But you want your turn, I get it, it’s natural. I really do like what you tell me, you’re a fine conversationalist. I will listen to you more. I just have one more thing to say about this cocktail and how poorly the bartender muddled the mint…

What’s that?

Oh, right. Yes, carry on…

Advertisements

One thought on “Gift of Gab

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s