Logorrhea

There are times when I should just. stop. talking. But I can't. I sometimes get what Lindsay Lohan describes as "word vomit" in Mean Girls.

Yesterday, for example, I had a doctor's appointment (I finally, finally found a primary care doc who I really, really like, so anyone in the Princeton area who's looking, I'll hook you up), and as she was doing my physical, the doctor was asking me a whole bunch of questions: Do you have joint problems? (No); Is your hearing okay? (What?); Any trouble sleeping? (No); Do you have night sweats?

To this last one, I should have just answered, unequivocally, "No." But, of course, I have to overthink everything, and I'm terrified of inadvertently lying to anyone who's in a position of authority, so I decided it was important to say, "Well, I don't think night sweats, per se, but I sometimes do sort of, I guess, because my husband's really hot in the bed."

And I immediately, of course, became totally flustered and beet red, and then felt compelled to explain, "Oh, wow, that sounded dirty. I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that."

To which my very kind doctor replied, "Oh, don't worry -- I didn't think of it that way." She totally gave me an out. Which I could. not. take.

"What I meant was, he's kind of like a human space heater. He's just so WARM! So, you know, sometimes, at night, I feel really hot, but...uh...Yeah, I think it doesn't count as night sweats. No. I'm good. No night sweats."

I'm such an idiot, sometimes.