I’m a world-class talker. A hell of a story teller. A master at public speaking. I can work a room like nobody’s business.
It’s been said I’m full of crap. I take that as a compliment.
We all have our strengths. Mine is the Gift of Gab. No one knows if I’m that way because I was one of four kids and had to fight to get attention, or if I was dropped on the floor as a child. But whatever the reason, I excel at loquaciousness.
I talk a lot, too.
And I’m chatty and garrulous.
And I own a thesaurus.
There are few people in my inner circles who can tell when I’m dead serious, straight up sincere, or spinning a joke. And the master of those few people is My Captain. He can call “Bull-shit” from a mile away. Usually, he does it lovingly. But sometimes…sometimes he does it without words.
I’ll be entertaining myself hugely by weaving an outlandish yarn with someone, and he’ll shoot me one of these looks:
Nothing gets by him. Oh, believe me, I’ve tried.
And if you don’t think that I quiver in fear when I receive one of these nail-me-to-the-wall looks, you’re sadly mistaken. If I was a puppy, I’d probably pee on the floor a little bit. Heck I’m not sure I haven’t done that anyways, when he’s given me that look. My Captain is not one to be trifled with. A smart woman would stop trying.
Which tells you a lot about my intelligence quotient…..