Day 2: Talk to Me

"The trouble with her is that she lacks the power of conversation but not the power of speech." George Bernard Shaw

I know how to talk. That might not sound impressive, but it is. Conversation is an art form, and I’ve figured out a thing or two about it over the years. But what I haven’t figured out is how to love it. This was my plan for the night, and I was looking forward to it: Me + Aloneness + My pajamas + 30 Rock Season 3 = Bliss.

So when our neighbors invited us to a singles activity to play “outdoor games”, my mind started racing for a good excuse not to go.

“I have to wash my hair.”

“I have tuberculosis.”

“My dog just died.”

Then, I remembered that one of the most repeated words of marriage advice I’ve received is that I should take every opportunity to meet people. The thought of talking to people makes me tired. And grumpy. But I put on a happy face and said, “Sure, I’ll go.”

We went. Games were played. Food was eaten. It was a typical Mormon activity. With typical conversations.

“What’s your name?” I said. (His name was Rodrigo. He had a great name and great hair.)

“Where are you from?” (I asked Brandon that 3 times on accident. Listening to the answer might be helpful next time.)

“What do you do?” I questioned. (“Computer Science…blah blah blah…” Carl said. He lost me after those first two words.)

“How do you know that? Have you been stalking me?” I demanded. (Rodrigo remembered seeing me at a random institute class back in March…I was flattered.)

“Let’s have a Saved by the Bell Party.” I exclaimed. (Everyone agreed. We decided who would be who, and discussed potential outfits, most of which included shoulder pads, neon, and high waist pants.)

“Did you eat guinea pig?” I wondered out loud. (Rodrigo did. But he didn’t like it.)

“Is World of Warcraft an Xbox game?” I politely inquired. (Brett’s thoughts: “Stupid. World of Warcraft is a massively multiplayer online role-playing game. Everyone knows that.”)

“Is Fantasy Football an Xbox game?” I asked. (Peter’s thoughts: “Seriously? This girl’s an idiot.”)

“¿Cómo se llama llama?” I repeated. (Rodrigo made fun of my Argentine accent. But I knew he was actually jealous of it.)

“Can we go home now?” I implored. (And like true Americans, they answered: Yes, we can.)

Afterwards I was tired, but I wasn’t as grumpy as I thought I’d be. The majority of the night was filled with exhausting conversations, talking about things that did not interest me at all. But, in the midst of all those pointless conversations, there was one that was okay. In fact, it was better than okay.

“You’re fun. I hope we get to talk again,” he said. (I smiled.)