Overtalking

Elaine is one of my best friends. She knows me well. She understands me. She is the peanut butter to my jelly. And we have much in common---which is what binds us-- and it has kept our friendship strong throughout the good and bad times—almost as if we were married (without the lesbian sex part).

And amongst our commonalities is our almost irrational fear of awkward silence—not with each other—but with others at social gatherings. And I admit to being guilty sometimes of including her in social gatherings for the expressed purpose of avoiding awkward silence---she understands my fear—and together we can keep the conversation going no matter how untalkative the crowd is that surrounds us.

And we both suffer from over-curing the awkward silence by over-talking—as in, we just don’t shut up. And the pitch of our chatter increases and so does the wpm (word per minute) as the over-curing progresses. But as we are best friends, we can communicate telepathically—and when either one of us engages in unstoppable manic verbiage—we can just look at each other and disengage the behavior.

My husband changed careers. He sold his CPA practice and now works for one of his former clients. My husband’s new employers are 2 brothers. I have known them and their wives for years and they are lovely people. But despite knowing them for years----the dynamic has shifted—they are no longer clients—they are bosses—and that changes everything.

One of his employers and his wife invited my husband and I and the lawyer and his wife out to dinner this past spring. The location was a very tres-chic restaurant on the North Shore--the kind of restaurant that regular people like me cannot get a Saturday night reservation for unless it is a month in advance and even at that—the reservation would be at 5:30 or 10:00 pm. It’s the kind of restaurant where there is personal wait staff for every table. And the clientele is very upscale—the women have all had plastic surgery and wear red-soled shoes. Even the busboys drive Lexuses. We had an 8:00 reservation on a Saturday night---and the boss’s wife called the maître-d 2 days before to get it. And I had to call both my friends Elaine and Linda to get advice on what I should wear

I consider myself a secure person. I know enough things about enough subject areas that I can make small (or even medium) talk with just about anyone. But I was still nervous. I wanted to play the part of the dutiful wife. I wanted to be charming. I wanted to blend in. I wanted everyone to like me.

And at first I was doing fine even though the over-attentiveness of the wait staff was distracting—they filled my water glass after every sip—and the second one piece of silverware accidently moved from its perfect parallel position they would realign it. And I was doing fine. And we were well into our first course when it happened—just as the baked clams were being passed around-- the table fell into an awkward silence-- and I panicked. And my incessant chatter kicked in. And I could not stop myself even though the right part of my brain was trying to override the talk button. And just as the chatter was reaching maximum high pitched wpms the dish of clams was being passed to me--- and my animation—which often accompanies the chatter—caused me to drop the serving fork not once, not twice, but three times. And now I feared they thought I was drunk—which I was not—and Elaine was not there to telepathically get me out of the manic state.

 But something really wonderful happened, the boss’s wife caught my eye—and I understood that she understood what was going on with me. And she gently interrupted my chatter and successfully got me back on track. Telepathically she told me not to worry---she was in charge and she would handle any further awkward silences. I submitted.

And the remainder of the evening was lovely. The food was phenomenal. And our every need was attended to. My husband’s boss and his wife were wonderful hosts.  And even though there has been a power shift of client to boss I am now comfortable with the change-- and more importantly, I have regained my comfort with myself. Because that is always key—being comfortable with yourself. And when I was in the car last week with my friend Elaine there were a few moments of silence—but it wasn’t awkward. That’s how you know you have a good friend—you can enjoy silence together. It’s never awkward--and if you want to say something you can do so telepathically.