A friend
of mine whom I'll call Carol (to call her "Wolfgang" would be completely wrong
because that's not her name) has a very pretty perfect face and a
perfect nose to go along with it. It's not store bought; it came directly
from her gene pool. Her porcelain skin rarely gets shocked with sun or
chlorine. She is a really lovely drop dead gorgeous woman.
But, back to her nose. Carol's nose is absolutely perfect but for one minor problem. She has this tendency to stick it into everybody's business. How such a perfectly formed, God-given nose can find its way into everyone's life and still manage to inhale fresh air, the scent of brownies, catch a cold, sneeze, smell a rat or hide boogers is beyond me. Carol is apparently a nose it all.
I don't
know about you, but I have certain firewalls borders in place and sexually
vibrant men boundaries around me when it comes to personal matters. Yes,
this coming from the woman who talks about her sometimes nonexistent or
imaginary sex life and relationships. I value and respect the right to
privacy in others and fiercely value and respect my own. Carol doesn't seem to
nose this. Last night, Carol and I decided to meet for drinks dinner and
catch up on each other's business lives. Carol is the CEO of a
successful nonprofit that I contribute to when she puts a gun against my
head as often as I can. She is divorced and has two great kids. I don't identify
many kids as "great" normally. Especially if they are teenage boys. I tend to
think of them as non-profit vampires of refrigerator contents and laundry
detergent mixed with high-test testosterone. So when I say her kids are really
great, I mean it in the sincerest way possible as long as they finish
cleaning out and reorganizing my attic and garage by next weekend. They are
polite, well educated and are coming into their own as young, responsible
adults. And they are not nosey like their mother.
As Carol
and I were perusing the menu, my cell phone rang. I briefly took the call,
confirmed that Tuesday would be fine, excused myself for cutting the
conversation short because I was at dinner with a friend and said I would
return the call later in the evening or this morning. Then I hung up the phone
and returned to trying to read the small print menu.
"Who was that?" Carol asked. I pretended not to hear.
"Elizabeth, what are you doing on Tuesday? Do you have a date?" she forged on.
Have you
ever noticed that three seconds of silence on TV is called "dead air" for a
reason? Three seconds is an awfully long time when nobody says anything. I wasn't
biting. I didn't even look up from my martini menu. I knew that Carol
was dying to know something that was none of her business and for that reason
alone I refused to answer. Carol doesn't raise millions of dollars every year
in complete silence by taking "no" for an answer. I was enjoying watching
her squirm my drink and I thought we got beyond the moment.
"What are you going to have?" I asked Carol, pretending she had not just broken into the section of my life called "none of your my business".
A little
uncomfortable and more than annoyed she responded, "I think I'm going to have
the pear salad and risotto special. How about you?" I told her I was going for
the crab cakes and the Porterhouse steak. I have a big appetite and have been
consuming a goregous Italian pasta for almost one week straight. Get
over it. We ordered and talked about the state of the world.
Carol's
cell phone rang. She took the call and chatted animatedly for more than a few
minutes. Carol would be great on TV. There would be never be dead air time. I
checked my e-mail in the meantime, responded to two texts and ordered another
martini before Carol hung up and apologized. And then she started to tell me
who she was talking to and what was going on and gave me a ton of information
that was none of my business I was not interested in knowing. At all.
I cut her off before oxygen would have to be brought in the third
paragraph.
How can recounting
a conversation take longer than the conversation itself, I wonder? I know that
this is one of the things that drive madden men to drink most.
"I'm not
really interested," I gently told Carol. "Ann is your friend (whom I
have never met) and I can tell you that if I were she, I would not be too happy
about you sharing what was obviously supposed to be a conversation between you
and her. If this was meant to be a three way, don't you think
Ann would be sitting here with us and it would be up to her to decide if she
wanted to share?"
No dice.
Carol
pressed on and explained that Ann is very open and would have no problem with
the fact that Carol had just shared information about Ann's recent scare with
colon cancer. Me, I'm just not buying it. After Carol stopped talking about
herself, her kids, some upcoming event that I need to attend and her on again,
off again boyfriend, she came full circle and tried aproaching my
business the control tower one more time.
"So who
called?" she asked sweetly (we were well into the wine by now) and had finished
our entrees. Dead air again. Now this was just too much fun. I picked up a big
spoon of crà ¨me brulee and with a smile on my face, stuffed it in my mouth and
simultaneously responded, "None of your business I'm not telling". The waiter arrived with the
check just then and as I gave him my card and sent him off. Carol sulked a little
and we made small talk. The waiter returned with the receipt and my card and I
feigned a yawn as I did the math and signed the bill.
She thanked me as I was finishing up and I nodded and told her she was very welcome. As we left the restaurant and headed to our respective cars, I nonchalantly asked Carol, "So is it true that your ex had a really small penis and was lousy in bed?" I was in my car before the dead air could hit me. I think she learned her lesson. It cost me $158 plus the tip to teach it to her. She nose better than to ask me anything that is none of her business again.
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