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The Chatty Cathy Murders

March 16, 2011

Isn’t that the best book title, ever?  I think I’ll write it.  Of course, I will have to live it first.  Fortunately for me, I have a Chatty Cathy in my life and I am, indeed, fixing to live it, at least in my head.

Chatty Cathy, to the untrained eye, appears normal… until she begins to speak.  You know the type.  She is everywhere, the grocery store, the gym, church and in your sub.  If you’re really lucky she is in your circle of friends.

At the store she will look in your cart and say “Mmmm, is that high fiber cereal any good?  My doctor wants me to eat more fiber since the bowel impaction.  He had to reach in and…”

At the gym you’ll hear “I used to have really bad cellulite, too.  Is this your first time here?  I come here every day and hey, I’ll bet I weigh as much as you, how much do you weigh…”

At church you might hear “If that was my child I would paddle his little bottom and he would behave.  Why I remember one time when my kids were small…”  You get the idea.  Every situation can somehow be tied to her.  It is like she is playing her own game of Kevin Bacon.

I get to see her once a week now.  yay.

I’m going to these mini classes at my local library.  Each week there is a short presentation about yet another facet of human metabolism.  I’ve gone four times and three of those four meetings I have found myself sitting next to Chatty Cathy, luck, luck, lucky me.  The first time she chose a seat next to me.  I’m not to blame because as I mentioned, she looks like everybody else.  I was excited to be there and smiled at each new face that entered the room, which I guess is a neon sign that says “Attention all crazy people, sit here for I am eager to befriend you.”

She identified herself immediately by glancing at my phone and passionately telling me why she will never be dumb enough to have a Blackberry.  Yes, my phone is a Blackberry.  Once our class started, she had a series of lengthy comments for every topic that our instructor introduced.

Last week our discussion was about how muscle tissue is more dense than fat.  Of course, to women who are obsessed about weight, this boils down to “muscle weighs more than fat.”  Ask any woman that has ever been on any kind of fitness plan and she will tell you “muscle weighs more than fat,”  well, every woman except Chatty Cathy, that is.

“No, you are all wrong.  A pound of fat weighs exactly the same as a pound of muscle. They both weigh exactly one pound.”  Everyone in the room rolls their eyes because this was going to be her I’mnottakingabreathsoyoucan’tinterruptme topic this week.  Each week she has a rant, a dead horse she simply won’t stop beating.  This week’s was muscle vs. fat.

The teacher softly says “Yes, we know that but what we are saying is that at the scale, if you are losing fat but building muscle, your weight may stay the same or even increase because you have turned fat into muscle.”

A vein pops out of Chatty Cathy’s forehead and she begins pounding on the table and shouting “A POUND OF FAT WEIGHS EXACTLY THE SAME AS A POUND OF MUSCLE.  You are wrong, wrong, wrong.  And you can’t turn fat into muscle.  Fat has to be broken down blahbitty blahb bl…..”

Ding, ding, ding!!  Bonus!  A double rant week.  yay.

In my head I scream “For the love of baby kittens, Chatty Freaking Cathy, shuuuuut up!  I don’t want to bludgeon you to death with my water bottle but you are leaving me no choice here.”  What I say out loud is exactly what every other woman in the room says.  Nothing.

She goes on for several minutes.  The teacher can’t get a word in.  Oh, she makes a valiant effort, inhaling and opening her mouth several times to indicate that she would like to speak but Chatty Cathy has her eyes closed (rendering everyone invisible) and her volume set at max.  She can’t see or hear and isn’t about to let anyone else hear anything either, except of course, her own immense wisdom.

During the tirade I mentally make a list of items to pick up at Kroger on the way home, try to remember if I turned off the coffee pot and wonder if  Blue Cross will cover an urgent care visit for a sprained eye ball because I have rolled them so many times in the past 25 minutes I may need a splint or an x-ray.

Because God is merciful and loves us, the speaking finally stops. There is thick white mortar in the corner of her mouth from rant induced dehydration, no doubt.  She lifts her water bottle and takes a long drink.  I silently thank our loving, merciful God that Chatty Cathy was not endowed with the gift of ventriloquism.

Our teacher takes the class back and shortly dismisses us.

Ten minutes later, as I pull into a parking spot at Kroger, I see Chatty Cathy, power walking into the store.  I put my car into reverse.  If I do not go into this store, she can live to die another day.  Besides the other Kroger has a Starbucks.  Win-win.

One Comment leave one →
  1. Annabelle permalink
    April 3, 2011 1:12 pm

    🙂 you make me laugh (as usual)!

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