It's An Itch; I Need To Scratch It

[poliphilo]

"I don't think I've told you this before", said my mother-in-law weakly and began a story about how she once ate pasta in a hotel in Malta. Ailz noticed me fidgeting and suggested I take a walk. So I did.

My in-laws like to talk about

(a) Great hotel meals I have eaten
(b) Great conversations I have had with medical personnel
(c) Great relatives I used to have but don't any more because they're mostly dead.

And that's about it.  It's useless trying to discuss anything else with them because they don't listen and once you've said your say my father-in-law will weigh in with, "I'll tell you this..." and switch the conversation back to one of the favoured topics.

(To be fair they also used to talk about how "If I had my way I'd send them all back home" but they've been cured of that.) 

Ailz and I have developed a soothing fiction about how I'm a restless soul and can't sit still- which allows me to get up and leave the room when they start.

Comments

[xiphias.livejournal.com]

. . . I wish that were the case . . .

You know what's bad? When you're telling a story about something that happened to a friend of yours, and you realize that the person you are telling it to is the person who it actually happened to.

You know what's worse? When you realize this is the third time you've told the person that story.

You know what's even worse than that? When you can't stop telling the story after you realize both of those things.

[poliphilo.livejournal.com]

I guard against this sort of thing myself by never telling anyone anything.