Too Much Information

I was relaxing with friends a few Sundays ago, having brunch at a charming out-of-town restaurant.

We were enjoying our piping hot coffee and delicious eggs benedict, and we were of course enjoying each other’s company…but more than anything we were enjoying the restaurant staff.

Oh wait, did I forget to mention?  This restaurant was called the Bump and Grind Café, and the waiters were all drag queens.

Every last, hairy one of them.

And as I sat there trying not to ogle at the men in pink fishnet tights, I started thinking about Hunter- my new beau, who thus far believed me to be an upstanding and straight-laced citizen (save for when I drive like a crazed lunatic and risk the lives of thousands by making wide left-turns).

So I turned to my recently engaged friend, “Marie,” and asked, “Will you tell your fiancé about this?”

“Umm,” she hesitated, as a man in a cut-off denim skirt pranced by.  “No, I don’t think so.”

“Why not?”

“Because I tell him things on a need-to-know basis.  And this-” she gestured dramatically to our waiter, who was giving an impromptu lap-dance at the next table.  “is not something he needs to know.”

And as I followed her gaze back to the neighboring table, where our waiter was now lifting his (her?) skirt to reveal a hot pink banana-hammock, I began pondering this question:

What constitutes TMI?

I have a problem with the idea of Too Much Information.  I’ve always been one to tell my deepest darkest secrets to my loved ones and friends, and I’ve never understood all the fuss about “off limits” topics of conversation.  But the older I get the more I realize I am in the minority, and I’m starting to wonder if there might be validity to keeping some skeletons in the closet.

When I posted about dating games, I received an interesting comment from “Cheryl” who said, “If you know everything about a person, that person becomes boring.”  And though I disagree, she got me thinking…if people like Marie and “Cheryl” really feel this way, does that mean they think me guilty of TMI?

To me, intimacy comes from knowing a person’s very core.  It’s experiencing every part of his personality…from the good, to the bad, to the ugly…and accepting him for exactly who he is.

My friends know me inside and out.  If my soul had a face, they could pick it out of a line-up of thousands.  And in my mind, that’s exactly how it should be…no secrets, no facades, just Abigail.

Perhaps I’m wrong to be so open.  Maybe some topics really should be off-limits…like talking about dating-history when you’re with someone new (though Hunter has gotten a bit of that, bless his soul).

But even if my TMI tendencies are a liability, I’m not sure there’s anything I can do about it.  Because when I start keeping secrets, I stop being myself.  I start pretending.  Pulling away.  Putting up walls.

I like telling people things when I don’t know how they’ll react.  It’s an adrenaline rush…plus, 9 times out of 10 they’re far more receptive than I’m expecting them to be.  And in my opinion, one of the most cathartic things in the world is having someone know my secrets and still choose to be my friend.

There’s no other feeling like being loved As Is.

So “Cheryl” and Marie can have their secrets, but I’m sticking with my TMI (sounds like a disease, no?).  You can’t teach an old dog new tricks, and it’s far too late for me to start being dishonest now.

And just so you know, I did tell Hunter about the Bump and Grind drag queens.  I told him everything…and he laughed. He didn’t get mad, or weirded out, and he didn’t judge me for socializing with trannies on a Sunday.  He simply laughed, and asked me what I had for brunch.

Sometimes secrets only have power when they’re not being told…even if they are TMI.

Much love.

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No Comments on "Too Much Information"

  1. Clare
    20/10/2009 at 11:46 am Permalink

    Bravo, Abigail….From one TMI’er to another. 🙂

  2. Ashley
    23/11/2009 at 2:43 pm Permalink

    The only time I tend to withold info is when I know it will unneccesarily hurt someone’s feelings or upset them. I.e., my husband doesn’t need to know about the skeez that hit on me last girls’ night. It would just make him mad, and besides I much prefer him when he’s not sulking. But other than that I tell him, and my friends pretty much everything. I love it when you share something that you think is totally embarrassing, and your confidant looks at you in (perceived) horror for a moment before exclaiming that he/she does the same thing and thought he/she was the only weirdo who did. P.S. I could totally pick out your soul-face. Moo.

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