|Greg and I attended the same school of Small Talk|
Small talk. I just can't do it. When I see someone coming down the road that I know, I pray they don't stop and talk to me. Just a quick greeting and a little wave will do me grand, thank you. And don't sit beside me on the bus. You'll ruin the whole journey for me. I'll be sat there, squirming in my seat, trying to think of things to say to fill the awkward silences. And there will be many of them. Don't even think of bumping into me at the shopping centre. I'll lose the ability to speak. I won't be the girl who never backs away from a heated discussion down the local of a Sunday afternoon. Instead you'll be greeted by a grunting, nodding, bag of nerves, who shifts from one foot to the other while wringing her hands as her face turns from bright red to puce. I'll wring my hands so much that welts will form between my fingers; yes, that has actually happened. I have often run into shops to avoid people I know. In my local Pennys I have hid behind railings of clothes and on the street I run past friends exclaiming, "I'm running late, so sorry I can't stop", all to save myself from chit chat. Sometimes I get caught of course, and make a complete idiot of myself. I bring up something inappropriate like the smear test I just had, making us both sorry we stopped for this tete a tete. Other times I waffle on, out of control, not sure when to call a halt to the little chat. I want to shout at the acquaintance "I'm sorry, I'm crap at this, just walk by in future!" Letting them know, it's nothing personal, that I am just a freak. But I never do.
At least I'm safe over here in Derby; having no friends can sometimes be a blessing. Except down that chipper, won't be going there again so. Which is a pity cos it were right tasty.