I don't know if it's because I'm usually in a hurry but I tend to do everything fast:
I drink fast.
I eat fast.
I talk fast.
I especially talk fast. And when I am lucky enough to carry on a conversation with another fast talker, it's like the heavens align perfectly. We can get so much in during our conversation. When most people would be carrying on a normally paced conversation and doing pleasant introductions, me and the similar fast talker are already swapping phone numbers and adding each other as Facebook friends. Ta-da! So efficient we are.
However, one of the negatives of being a fast talker is that sometimes I speak before I think. I just blurt it out. It's like I don't always have time in my head to think about possible ramifications of my words.
There are people in my family who don't say anything without careful deliberation. They choose their words and reactions to words with thought and concern.
Not me.
I'm definitely a blurter.
And sometimes I even try not to be. I try to chose my words carefully, but it doesn't always work. I feel like Ralphie in "A Christmas Story" when he finally gets the opportunity to tell Santa what he wants. He panics and yells out: "No! No! I want an Official Red Ryder Carbine-Action Two-Hundred-Shot Range Model Air Rifle!"
He looks just as shocked as anyone when he utters those words.
Then Santa kicks him in the face and shoves him down the slide.
Now that I'm a parent, I have discovered that filterless parents have filterless babies. And those filterless babies grow up to be filterless children.
When my daughters were born, I literally said a prayer: "Dear God, please let my girls grow up to be strong and independent and spirited and don't let them take shit from anyone."
Deep sigh...
I think we can safely say God was definitely listening to that prayer.
While all three girls have different personalities, not one of them is afraid to speak what's on her mind. I don't think it even crosses their mind to think about what it might sound like when they repeat something.
A couple days ago my kids had come home from a long day at the city pool. We were all in the kitchen and they were sharing who they saw at the pool and who they played with during the day.
"Do you know what one boy said to me at the pool today?" Chloe, my 10 year old, said.
"No, what?" I asked her.
"He said 'I'll give you a nickel if you tickle my pickle.'"
Instantly my mom and I burst out laughing.
My dad, however, was not amused. He had that look on his face that I recognized from childhood. His eyebrows cinched together and his nostrils flared a bit.
I tried to motion to Chloe to quit talking about it, by motioning a zipper across the mouth. She either didn't see it or chose to ignore it. It's safe to say that not only do we not have a filter for our mouths, we lack a zipper as well. She went on and on, and it didn't help that I continued to laugh.
"I don't think it's appropriate," my dad said.
He was right...it wasn't appropriate. I asked Chloe, "So what did you say to the boy who said that to you?" In my head I imagined a guy in a leather jacket, standing outside the chain link fence by the pool...wearing sun glasses and smoking a cigarette.
She shrugged. "He was about 10, so I told him he was disgusting and then I swam away."
I nodded. "Wise move."
Inside I tucked away that pickle saying, and wondered if there was any way I could use it on a future date.
And it's not just my girls who say whatever pops in their brains. My son does it, too.
A couple weeks ago we all went out to eat at a local restaurant. As we were leaving and walking out through the parking lot, I automatically reached for my son's hand. He looked up at me, "When we get home and go to bed, do you want to lay in bed and talk about stuff with me?"
I smiled. I knew what he was up to. Ever since I got an iPhone, he became obsessed with playing games on my phone. In his little 8 year old brain, he was thinking that if he got me to lay down with him, I would be so tired that I wouldn't care if he played games on my phone.
"Well," I asked him. "What kind of stuff did you want to talk about?"
"I don't know," he said. "But just not, like, sexual stuff. I don't really want to talk about that with you."
I rolled my eyes, stopped walking and looked at him. "Well that makes two of us. Why in the world do you think I'd want to talk about sexual stuff with you anyway?"
He shrugged his shoulders and kept walking.
Seriously, I would have died before I suggested talking about sexual stuff to my parents when I was eight.
It didn't seem to bother him in the least.
But then, an incident last weekend happened that made me realize how hereditary this lack of filter issue really is.
My friend Nicole and I joined my mother and Grandma Tillie for lunch at Red Lobster. Nicole loves my family, and especially loves hanging out with Tillie, because as Nicole says, "You just never know what's going to come out of her mouth."
True. Once in awhile Grandma Tillie will reward us with a verbal gem that keep us smiling for years. And last weekend was no disappointment.
Before we had a chance to order, Grandma Tillie turned toward Nicole and said, "Do you want to see my pacemaker scar?" Nicole murmured in agreement and turned toward her. "Wow," she said. "But it's healing really nice."
Grandma shook her head. "That's nothing, wait until you get ahold of this..."
And then I knew what she was going to do. It's like it all happened in slow motion.
My mom did, too. She hid her face behind a menu and said, "Mom, not here. We're at a restaurant..."
I just tried not to smile because I knew what was going to happen.
Grandma lifted up her shirt and showed us the purple bruising on her bare boob. "Check that out," she said.
Nicole nodded approvingly and gave me a look, suppressing a smile.
I knew that look and exactly what she was thinking:
Jackpot.
But hey, I gotta hand it to Grandma Tillie. She's still got a decent rack.
And when I turn 89, I'll probably be whipping out my bare boob at a Red Lobster too.
My kids will be hiding behind menus, and I'll laugh and catcall over to the waiter, "Hey, if you give me a nickel..."
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