The tears of a clown

I’ve bared my soul with you about one of my issues before. When I’m nervous I talk. A lot. It’s awful to be in my head when this happens. I absolutely cannot shut up. It’s impossible. It’s agony. Joke after joke come out and there’s absolutely no stopping it.

Apparently, it amuses all the people who know me well. Sometimes Ava thinks it’s funny–to a certain extent, depending on the situation. My husband thinks…well.

My Honey and I had a parent/teacher conference with Bandit’s fifth grade teacher this afternoon. These make me nervous. I don’t know why. Honestly. I’m not the student here. Nevertheless, I’m off like a shot from a cannon.

As we walked out the door, I said to My Honey, “I can’t make it stop.”

He knew what I was talking about, this jokester tirade. “It’s like a freight train.”

“It’s out of my control.” By now I’m gesturing like a wild thing as we make our way through the quad towards the parking lot.

“It’s kind of exciting,” he says.

I look at him aghast. “You know you could step in. You could stop it at anytime be speaking.”

“I’m just waiting to see if the train hits a curve.”

“Wow!”

“Well, maybe you could try swearing a little less. You know, in front of the teacher.”

Oh my god. I can’t even remember half of what I’ve said. It’s like I’m in a comedy fugue state. “Oh lord.”

“Also, maybe stop cracking jokes about the option of beating your child to get him to do his homework.”

Oh my god. Oh my god.