There are a few things in life that I’m fairly good at. I can, for instance, walk and chew bubble gum all at the same time. I’m a pretty competent Halo player. I’ve been known to drain a 3 with 5 seconds left on the clock with a wadded up piece of paper from all the way across my room.
I have skills.
I also, am pretty good at the fine art of conversation. A fact which continually surprises me as I’m strangely shy and have cripplingly low self-esteem.
My best friend in high school (up until, that is, he hated me for a still unclear reason that I think involved a girl, but I’m still not sure about) used to tell me that I had a silver tongue; and whenever he’d do so I imagined a small, vaguely tongue-shaped object in place of my actual tongue. Cold, shiny, and fast. For some reason, this silver-tongue was always too small for my mouth…why wouldn’t I just imagine it being the same size as my real tongue, just all chromed and classy like?
Highschool friend said I had a silver tongue. When I got to college, I got a reputation as an incorrigible flirt, and that continued into present day where I again have said reputation among my friends at work. I’m not afraid to talk to the big boss like he’s a normal person and I can pull off the jokes at his expense that maybe most people can’t. I was giving advice to a friend of mine about how to talk to this girl he likes and when I told him that it would work he said, “Well sure, YOU can pull something like that off, but I can’t.”
Here’s the thing, though: for as much good the talking and the flirting and the dancing around have done me, they’ve done equally bad for me as well. If you think about it, what do I have to show for all my clever linguistic loops and witticisms? Maybe, just maybe, I need to learn to sometimes keep my damn mouth shut…
This public service announcement has been brought to you by…well, me.