Chatty Cathy, OR, In Need of an Exit Strategy

My husband is not much of a talker. He is introverted and loathes small talk. When we dated long distance for years, talking on the phone was not much fun. Lots of listening to each other breathe, and NOT in a good way.

So why have I dubbed him "Chatty Cathy?"

Because dude doesn't know how to end a conversation.

Am I the last one talking at church on Sunday? No. Am I the one who goes to the neighbor's house to call the kids home for dinner and stands in the yard talking for 20 minutes? At dinner time? Nope.

And don't even make me tell you about the Open House Horror of 2003. Oh, you insist?

Fine.

We were looking for a new home, and house hunting was difficult due to the kids' ages (1.5, 4) and my husband's crazy work schedule. This was pre-Internet house hunting. Can you imagine?

One Sunday the stars aligned for us to go to 2 open houses in THE neighborhood in our town.

You know the one with the elementary school in walking distance, the pool right down the street where kids of a certain age can go unattended, and the book clubs and mimosas and probably even dark chocolate available for mom at any time? The one where houses come on the market rarely and never last long? That one. Call it Mayberry, or Stepford, or whatever you wish, but call it a nice place to live.

We headed to the open houses and Tom happened to see a family we had met a few times standing in their front yard. Chat. Chat. Chat. Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock. No amount of bitchy body language on my part was going to get him to quit chatting.

Before we (HE) knew it, the open houses were no longer open, and the houses were gone. Poof! Not that they actually disappeared, but my chance of having a ready made latte-sipping, power walking, carpool-less, bunco playing existence was up in smoke.

Not only did we never get a house in that neighborhood, we saw the chat-worthy couple exactly ONE more time in our lives.

I truly love my neighborhood and my neighbors, but sometimes I still pine for the amenities of the one that got away.

I'm different than Tom. I have zero qualms about saying a quick, "It's great to see you! Catch you later," when I'm trying to get somewhere. Part of this ability to disconnect quickly comes from NOT BEING CLUELESS, and another part from just being a mom.

I mean, what mom hasn't been chatting with a sister or friend on the phone and yelled into the receiver, "Uh-Oh! Gotta Go!" Click. Perhaps someone fell off of a chair. Could have been a massive booger or poop incident. Who knows? No explanation needed. Maybe there will be a call back to let the friend know all is well, but that is certainly not necessary or expected.

And hasty exits from public places? Are my thing. I can't be the only mom who has had to shove kids in a car the second the blood sugar (hers or theirs) starts plummeting. The hasty exit has saved many a play date from turning ugly. It's the lingering that leads to disaster.

I like that my husband is likable. I am glad people want to talk to him. I just wish he'd figure out when it's time to cut and run.

K? Gotta Go! Bye!