Speaking; Silence

I'm painfully shy, and inordinately curious. On the short term, bashfulness wins. Given enough time, inquisitiveness prevails. This is why people are usually left with a less-than-stellar impression upon first meeting. This is also why I have trouble with, well, people.

J.L. and I went to a pool bar, and when we got there, we were the only patrons inside. The waitress was just as confused as us. Soon after we arrived and got a table, a group of lime-green clad women sauntered in and started laughing like schoolgirls. Myself, J.L., and the waitress all exchanged one of those knowing looks.

Now, these women all wore the same lime green tops, lime green pants, tennis shoes, all quite unflattering and loose-fitting, but all uniform. Too ugly to be scrubs or kickball uniforms or halloween costumes. What the hell was their story?

J.L. and I had to know, but neither of us was willing to wade into the whole group and ask. He dared me, I dared him, we went back to him throttling me at billiards. Seriously, the only times I won was when he would scratch the eight ball. My best streak only came after five minutes of discussing Stephen Hawking's impending trip onto a zero-gravity flight. This means that my concentration is optimized when I think about physicists? What the hell?

After a couple of hours, I couldn't stand it. I waited until two of them split off from the main pack, then dropped my pool cue on the floor and surged. No doubt my forebears are proud of my initiative, and a little sad at everything else. Came up behind them and tapped the shorter one on the shoulder. "Excuse me, excuse me, could I ask you a question?"

The shorter, a cute brunette with lovely dark eyes, her head coming up about to my shoulderblade, caught my attention first. I looked down at her chest (to see the logo! to see the logo! I swear I'm not that dirty! Damn it, believe me! I just wanted information! Argh, I hate you all.), and the logo said "Orthodontics." Turned to the other, an older woman, grey streaks just starting to peek through her chestnut hair, a sweet smile, about my height. This would have been the perfect time to roll, but I was committed, and had to ask.

K.T.: I have to know, what, uh, what do you guys, you all, do? (Stammers alive! This is me talking to strangers! So awkward!)
Dark Eyes (D.E.): Oh, we work at a dental office. If you want some dental work, you should come in. (She smiled, and I had to turn towards Grey Streak or risk blushing.)
Grey Streak (G.S.): Yeah, why don't we take a look? (She rubbed my shoulder, then placed her hand quite gently on my right cheek.
K.T.: Heh. (I don't know if any of you ever did this, but when I was a little kid, whenever anyone said "Smile," I would pull my lips back in a rough grimace. That's what I did here, because I'm not too comfortable with strangers smiling and touching my cheek. Friends, feel free. Strangers, you better have more candy than G.S.)
D.E.: Wow, not bad. (The two of them actually seriously stared at my teeth for a good five seconds. Good for them, I was cornered in the middle of an open bar.)
G.S.: Yeah, that's pretty good. Well, if your friends need dental work, send them in. (By this point, G.S. had placed her thumb below my chin, and had half-progressed to a slow caress of my face.)
K.T.: Heh, thanks. (And then I backed up a few steps and walked away. Advantage: gazelles.)

I then went back to the pool table.

K.T.: Well, that was interesting.
J.L.: So, what do they do?
K.T.: I'm not telling you. You want to know, you go ask.

Told him in the end. It is not the destination, but the journey, that matters.

***

The last time I attempted to pass myself off as a mute was in high school. It lasted for all of two hours, and that was because the note pad was so small, and my handwriting so poor, no one could read what I was writing. I was essentially cut off from the world, not that I really cared. It was high school, and I was just killing time until I became a doctor, lawyer, or engineer.

Ten years have granted me neither wisdom nor discretion. I'm flirting with the idea of being a mute again, maybe for a week. The statistic states women use roughly 20,000 words in a day, men 7,000. If you remove my inner monologue from the count, there are days where I probably speak about 1,000 words. It wouldn't be that difficult, just really odd. Plus, I have a small whiteboard which would help with the tiny handwriting. The only question you may have is "Why?" The only question I have is "Why not?"