Sharing is not always caring!

Sharing. Never been my thing. If it is mine, it remains mine. Get your own. I have this blog and so I give you all my thoughts and musings for fun. My fun. My version of sharing.

Strangers sharing. Never good, always weird. And uncomfortable. But in the effort to be new and improved (read nicer and caring) I now listen and comment. First I practiced my poker face in the bathroom mirror so I would be sure of not projecting horror or disgust to my audience no matter what they said to me.

I hate it. All of it. God, it is unbelievable how much I hate it. Are people born caring about others? Is it something you can learn? Was I raised by a pack of wolves? Am I just an ass? I'm pretty sure it is the latter.

Today on my walk with the two most defective dogs ever! I ran into another neighbor walking a Bernese. Of course Olive being a puppy she is a total magnet for everyone and our walks take slightly longer than FOREVER. We stopped and the lady enveloped Olive in a giant hug. I don't touch other people's dogs, it's just a rule I have. I don't touch babies either or slugs.

After getting all the mundane details out of the way, name, where I live, kids, blah, blah, blah, the real fun began. Her tale of menopause. OK people, I talk about the bizarreness of my life, I use more general terms. I don't ask you to feel me to see how hot I am. Or the fact that I am dry in certain areas and sweaty in others. I don't tell you how I don't remember your name and could you tell me again. I don't tell you about the regularity of my movements and what the hell my breasts are up to, and believe me that is a good week of blog stuff right there. No, some things are just too weird for even me to talk about. Of course, in two months or so, gloves could be off and you could be learning stuff you SO don't want to know. Forewarned is Forearmed, or something like that.

Now good news, the practice of the poker face went well. Still, no sharing of this kind. I just nodded and tsk,tsk my way through the conversation all the time thinking "I really hope I don't run into you at the grocery store because I will be forced to remember this conversation and not in a good way." Don't show me your cart either, I seriously don't want to know.

It brought back up the horrible moments of me belonging to the hot health club. All the parents from my kids school went there, every morning after drop off, there we all were. The exercising mommies. Or in my case, the OMG this is a delicious place to have a smoothie mommy. One day I was in the locker room, changing. Now I am not a naked fan. Well, I mean group naked. Naked in my own house, fine. Naked in front of strangers, not fine. I would get the furthest away locker and pretend there was a fire and change so quick that not a spark would touch me. This day, I heard a voice calling my name. I turned around and there she sat. Naked. 100% naked and cross legged to boot. Sitting on the bench. As I turned around, it was a lovely shot of her whoo-hoo. For a moment I simply couldn't breathe. She was very comfortable and continued talking in a very normal manner. I was still trying to breathe and not pass out. It turns out she was the room monitor of my son's class. I stood there and stared. I knew her. Now, I knew ALL of her.

Every day after that I dashed into that school so fast that I was called in to the Principal's office about my speed issues, and that maybe I should park off campus. How could I explain that I couldn't just stand in the hallway and chit-chat about homework and crayons, I had seen her whoo-hoo. I had seen more of her than most of her close friends (I hope)had. We were barely on first name basis and I now rated right up there with her husband and her yearly doctor exam. There is no putting that genie back in the bottle.

I'm glad I have one of those faces that say, tell me, tell me everything, your deepest, darkest secrets, just don't then say "Let's walk together every day because these symptoms are a bitch!" I'm pretty sure I am unavailable.