by JJ Carson, Author of the Ex-Factor, LTD Contributor
A friend of mine uses this phrase. I find it hilarious. It's so me. When you know you should stop talking... and you don't. Instead, out comes all sorts of embarrassing information.
Since my divorce, I seem to be plagued with Word Vomit. Given the right set of circumstances, I'd probably admit to the Kennedy assassination.
Why is that???
Here's my theory. Divorce has a way of 'airing your dirty laundry.' No matter how discreet you think you're being. The simplest of questions can circle in your mind looking for the 'appropriate answer.' It can be exhausting.
As the circling is happening, typically, the person who asked the question is looking at you as though you've lost your mind. 'Why it is taking her so long to answer... Are you going to tomorrow's family day picnic?'
Somewhere, I gave up. Gave up trying to be secretive. Maybe because I've had so many lies and deceptions in my marriage, I wanted everything out in the open? Maybe because the lies continue, I've become overly honest not wanting to violate what I can't stand?
I don't know. But it seems I've crossed into Word Vomit.
Of course, there is bad Word Vomit. But there can also be hilarious Word Vomit. Today was a good example. And I've been chuckling to myself all day thinking about it. (Guys, I apologize in advance.)
Today was my 'annual female visit' to the doctor. Yes, so fun. The one where you get asked all of the most personal questions when you are in a very, let's call it, vulnerable position. Questions like:
Are you sexually active? If so, how many partners do you have? How many partners does your partner have? Do you practice safe sex? Do you feel threatened at any time?
As a married woman, it was no big deal.
Right after discovering my ex's affair, you can imagine how upsetting this visit was.
Two years later, as a single woman, it's a new ballgame. It turns out, there is another batch of questions you get to answer. I was a bit unprepared and uncomfortable. Defense mechanisms kicked in.
Some call it my wit. Others refer to it as my sarcasm. Whatever you like, it can come out at the worst possible times to the worst possible audiences. Today was no exception. I'm certain my new 50-something-year-old doctor has heard them all. And, she seems to have as much of a sense of humor as those at airport security.
Which means I should have shut up.
As I received a deadpan response, the Word Vomit kicked in. Instead of cutting my losses, I felt it necessary to explain myself. In detail. How. When. Where. Even threw in a 'Why' for good measure.
Needless to say, not a good choice. This doctor now knows far more about me than any medical record ever intended.
As she hurriedly left our appointment, I decided against asking for a prescription to cure my Word Vomit. Seems I may have to find one on my own.
I think it may be Margaritas.