I have a confession to make. My name is Madame Queen and I'm an eavesdropper.
It's rude, I know. But I can't help myself. I'm fascinated by relationships and I love getting a peek at the inner workings of other people's lives (Perhaps why I'm drawn to blogs? Hmmmmm.) I am an excellent reader of body language and facial expressions and I find I'm particularly drawn to people in conflict with one another. Why are they fighting? Why go out to dinner if you're fighting? Did the fight start in the car? At the table? Who started it? Who's playing the martyr? So many questions.
I used to think I was pretty good at eavesdropping unobserved. The first rule of eavesdropping is that you don't talk about eavesdropping (Does anybody here get that?) No, really, the first rule of eavesdropping is that you never actually look at the people you're listening to, except for the first cursory glance so you get an idea of who the players are. After that, you have to keep your eyes focused on the distance while listening to their conversation all the while keeping up with the conversation at your OWN table. Which is NOT easy, my friend. And apparently I'm NOT very good at it, according to Mr. Daddy. He says he can always tell when I'm doing it because I get this blank look on my face and I stop talking. BUT, I don't think I've ever been caught by any of my, um, subjects. So that's good. I guess.
Lately I've found myself imagining what the lives must be like of people I encounter. When we went to Charleston back in August, on the highway we got behind a woman in beat up, old rust-red colored El Camino. She had a couple of bumper stickers -- one of which was a Harley-Davidson logo -- and one of those roach clips with the feathers dangling from the mirror. (Aside here, WHAT were our parents thinking letting us wear those back in the 80s??! It was DRUG PARAPHERNALIA!!) Anyway, when we pulled alongside her, I noticed that she was what I call a woman of indeterminate age. It was pretty obvious that life had been hard on her. I turned to Mr. Daddy and said "She looks earthy."
"No, earthy as in her personality. She probably smells like warm polyester that's been stored in mothballs. And cigarettes. I bet she cusses like a sailor."
And then I was off and running...thinking about her life. What does she do for a living? Does she have children? Grandchildren, even? I even found myself hoping that she had a good life. Maybe she'd had a rough road 'til now. But maybe her luck was starting to turn. I guess this is the kind of thing I do when I can't read a book. Make up my own stories.
UPDATE: I just learned today, via Lulu that today has been designated as The Great Mofo Delurk Day by Schmutzie on her Milkmoney blog. The purpose behind this is to draw out lurkers on your blog. I think I have some based on my blog stats and some of you have outed yourselves recently and I have come to love YOUR blogs. So, if you lurk, let me know! I'd love to meet you!
5 years ago