Friday, February 14, 2014

When you just. can't. stop. talking.

Yesterday I bought a couch for the basement.  All the kids in our small group are rejoicing right now.  They've been sitting on the floor for months.

I was excited to find exactly what I wanted in our price range {something that has eluded me for a year of off-and-on looking}.  I'll show pictures when we get it in, but it's beautiful, in a muted light green color, VERY comfy, and big enough to seat our entire family.  There's pilling on the fabric of a few cushions, but I'm confident I can fix that, and the cushions are machine washable, which is very nice with the aforementioned small group kids in addition to our own brood.

When the roads cleared, I drove out to the seller's house to check out the sofa.  Oh, friends.  I couldn't believe what I was seeing.  If you ever want to know where the one percenters live in Knoxville, I found it.  A-mazing.  I was so glad no one was behind me so that I could drive really slowly with my jaw on the steering wheel.  Beauty was everywhere.

By the time I got to the house, I was mush.  When they opened the door, I was a puddle.  These were the beautiful people you see on TV.  They both looked like models and their home looked like a magazine cover.  Contrary to what you might think, though, they were actually really nice, and were extremely welcoming, but for some reason not due to them, I suddenly felt like a frumpy housewife.  When some people are uncomfortable, they are very quiet and fade away.  I do the opposite and begin incessantly talking, nearly always to my horror in hindsight.  As soon as I stepped in the door, I found myself gushing all over the place about everything in this house.  The floor, the area rug, the kitchen stove with six burners, a charcoal grill, and a warming rack with heat lamps that I never knew I needed in my future kitchen.  I just started talking and could. not. stop.

Before children, I was a better conversationalist.  Now I stay home and my day is often filled with bodily functions of some kind or another from some child or another.  It has become normal conversational fodder.  This couple didn't have kids.  When you are talking to adults with children, you can have conversations about dirty diapers and you kind of bond over your shared battle with all things potty-related.  When you are talking to a couple who do not have those daily smelly blessings, it is best to avoid the topic.

Maybe now is the time to mention that we've had a stomach flu in our house. 

You see where this is going.

I opened my mouth and from this cavity spewed forth such details of this last week as I should not share with anyone.  I could see on their faces that they were going to double up on their birth control, and was able to reign myself in.  Until the girl mentioned the Ikea and how much they love shopping there.

That did it.  I couldn't help myself.  I launched into the greatest of Ikea stories, where we single-handedly shut down the play area and all the parents had to come back early to get their kids because Jack had diarrhea in the ball pit.  It's a great story.

Really, it is.

I wouldn't say that they propelled me out of the house, but they didn't ask me to stay and be friends, or better, bring back those kids who, if my account was to be believed, have an amazing capacity to-

Well, I'd better stop there.  I wouldn't want to say anything out of turn.

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