Chatting

When I’m around people I don’t know, I’m a pretty quiet person. I think this is partially out of shyness, but it’s also out of a real fear that I’m going to say something someone else will think is totally stupid. I guess that is shyness. Whatever the case, until I get to know people, I don’t talk very much. Once I get to know people though, it’s kind of hard to shut me up.

I always envy those people though who are the types who will launch right into a conversation while they’re standing in the grocery line or at the bus stop. I’ve never been the type to do that. (This might have something to do with the fact that I’ve only stood at a “bus stop” like four times in my life, but you get the point)

But, despite my lack of initiative when it comes to spontaneous conversations with random strangers, I always seem to be the person that other people want to talk to. I don’t know why this is. I feel like I put on a fairly aloof face in public—I like to imagine that my face says “I’m not a mean person, but I’m also not here to talk to you.” But I think I’m wrong. I think my face says “If you feel like chatting, come over this way. And if you’re totally crazy, then please, you’re all the more welcome.”

Which is precisely how more times than I can count I’ve ended up being that girl on the subway who has the crazy crack addict sitting next to her telling her that he’s riding the train to rehab while he spits little bits of peanuts all over her because he can’t seem to close his mouth as he chews. Or the girl who gets in a conversation with a lady at Victoria’s Secret about which mesh body suit her fetish-loving boyfriend is going to like better. Both true stories.

So today, when I was having my hair washed at my hairstylist’s, it came as no surprise when the woman washing it deviated from our pleasant conversation about our jobs to tell me about her part time work as a caretaker for an 82 year old woman.

“Yeah, first thing I told her was that she was going to have to wash her own rootie and her own tootie,” she casually threw in as she applied conditioner.

“Rootie and tootie?”

“Yeah girl, you know, her vajayjay and her hayhay.”

Oh my.

The thing was though, even though I’d certainly had no intention of speaking about hayhays or anything else of that nature when I’d gone to have my hair cut today, it wasn’t as if I was offended. In fact, it was kind of refreshing. I spend a lot of time in my life making small talk about things that make me kind of want beat my head against a wall. Maybe it is time for me to bring new vocab like rooties and tooties to these conversations. They’ll be a big hit at stuffy cocktail parties. Or not. But I guess that’s the beauty of saying what you think in public. You don’t care. And that sounds nice to me.

*I do not know the correct spelling of rootie, tootie, vajayjay or hayhay. I apologize for any mispellings that may have occured herein.