As a child, I acquired a love, maybe even a passion, for talking. Unfortunatelly, the good Lord made me a shitty arguer, so any hopes of putting my obnoxious vocal abilities to adequate use in the law system as a lawyer was already crushed before the process had even begun.
Throughout my life, I was continuously described by phrases like “Yes, she’s a talker” or even the incredibly blunt “She never shuts up”. However, this seemingly overbearing trait was one I was never too aware of. I had always believed that I spoke an adequate amount, and if I spoke any less than what I had been I was merely rude and unsocial. I had no gauge on the amount I spoke, let alone the high speed at which I relayed a story or ever held a conversation. For me, a simple “I went to the store today,” relentlessly transitioned to “I went to the store today and I saw this bird, but this bird was unable to fly. Well, then I went up to this bird and he actually was totally fine and flew away from me, which made me kind of sad. So when I got to the store I bought myself an ice cream cone to make me feel better, but I obviously chose rocky road because vanilla is just too plain when you’re sad.” Those seemingly pointless add ins were important to me, because they essentially dictated the say I experienced my day or, in this case, my trip to the store.
However, one summer’s day, my unqiue talking capabilities were finally put into a brutal perspective. It was July of this year and there was a certain event that was taking place on this specific day. I desperately attempted to rid my mind of the occasion, but upon no success and what I feared would be an emotional and stressful day, I booked a horse bike riding session in Riverside County and off I went!
I spent my day shopping, treating myself to a lavished lunch that I was painful aware was far beyond my price range, and I essentially had a “Me Day”. At last, the day had endured and I was creeping into the time frame that required me to make my way to the said horse ranch for an experience I was elated for!
I was informed prior to the ride that I would be able to feed which horse I would eventually ride any carrots I wanted upon the end of my evening, so it was only logical for me to quickly track down the nearest Trader Joe’s and buy an outrageous amount of organic carrots [only the best for the noble steed carrying my ass!].
I located the carrots and made my way not the check out. Here, ladies and gentleman, was the horrific scene of my cringe-worthy encounter. I loaded the carrots onto the register only to be greeted by a semi-attractive bearded man encapsulating every component that adequaltey makes up the most hipster of all hipsters. He kindly greets me and notices my jade ring that I have showcasing my ring finger on my left hand. He motions to my hand and asked, “Is that real?”
Now, right off the bat, I had assumed he was asking about the jade stone in the ring, inquiring as to whether it was genuine or simply a “basic bitch” knockoff. So, I began to delve into one of my specialties; talking.
“Ya know, I’m not sure. I bought this at a street fair a while back, in Carlsbad, actually. It was at this cute, little booth! They had a bunch of them, but this one really stood out and I just loved the color! They have the fair a couple times a year, but I’ve only been maybe twice. I defintely recommend it though; they have amazing food!”
As I continued on with my story, I glanced up to notice the once curious man with an extremely confused expression on his once flirtatious face. Taking the cue [a bit too late], I wrap up my story with a very awkward, “But I’m really not sure about the stone…”
The irritated man let out a deep breath and explains, “Oh, I actually meant, like, are you married? But it’s okay… Nevermind…”
In attempt to redeem myself, I quickly respond with, “Oh! No, I’m not married at all.” However, my lack of allure had already shot this prospective husband in the face as he impatiently responds, “Yeah, its okay… Here are your carrots. Enjoy your day.” I, Vanessa Kash, had unintentionally talked myself out of a date!!
Mortified, I called my mother! After wrapping up her incredibly rude and insensitive laughing fit, the women encouraged me to make my way back into the store and ask HIM on a date! Unfortunately, the damage was done and a very hungry [and expensive!] horse was calling my name.
While I indefinitely deem that experience as the first pivoting moment in my “maybe you do talk too much” argument with myself, I can’t help defend myself by saying this: at least I’m not a hipster! While I may not have control over the amount in which I speak, you, sir, definitely have control of those godawful mutton chops you attempted to sport. So, who really loses here?