Chatty Cathy

I talk a lot. A LOT. (And you're probably thinking, "Thanks, Captain Obvious!")

One of my siblings' favorite stories to tell about my childhood is when we went to pick my brother up from college one summer. Being the youngest of 9 kids, my oldest brother was out of the house by the time I was born, and we scheduled a family trip to go get him from school. Having had no real quality one-on-one time with me in the past, he mistakenly took the seat next to me for the trip home. I can only assume he thought I would spend most of my time coloring or taking a nap.

What he didn't realize is that I had somehow developed the rare ability to intake air without having to stop the flow of words that spewed non-stop out of my mouth. For the next twelve hours, I chattered away at him. I don't remember what I said, and I don't remember anything out of the ordinary, but when we finally arrived and he stumbled out of the car, dazed and confused, my family realized what had happened.

They apologized for neglecting to tell him a sanity preservation measure they had learned. Evidently, I didn't care whether or not anyone engaged in the conversation with me. I seemed oblivious whether or not the person I was talking to inserted the right number of "ohs" and "ums" and "oks" in the right places. Consequently, my family discovered they could completely ignore me and even play music on their walkman without me noticing.