meet: my mouth

imagine a valve. it opens, it shuts. it lets valuable things through, like water or air or heart’s blood, then it closes.

i have a talking valve.

it is always open.

if conversation was convenience store hotdogs, my mouth would be the 24/7 place producing them, in varieties ranging from a little funny to totally off and probably gross.

i think by talking.

i observe by talking.

i even LISTEN by talking. no, really. i’m so INTO what you’re saying, i’m finishing your sentences for you. often incorrectly. and then i say, “oh wait. what?” that’s when you say, “i forget.” i think this is so you can end the conversation.

my mouth is an unstoppable train of minutia, tmi, rude observations about people who can’t hear me who sometimes end up hearing me, blunt observations about you that i hope you find helpful, and poop jokes. it often feel like this.

the great, amazing, wonderful thing about spending time with Hot Lunch my newest bosom buddy, kindred spirit and probably twin from a past life is the first thing we discovered over our first dinner at Red Lobster last July. it went like this:

we both had the biggest mouths of anyone we knew. we both ran them constantly and constantly ate up everything the other was saying. we talked right through our movie time and had to wait around for the next showing, eating melting soft-serve outside a McDonald’s… and talking.

that’s one thing that hasn’t changed in a year. two storytellers, each regaling their most avid audience, who happens to also be their favorite storyteller. we usually don’t even need tv.

and we like the same poop jokes.

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