You know what I love? Repeating myself. Not only does it double the duration of hearing myself talk, but it also doubles my chances of being heard. It's a good thing I am going into secondary education.
Coming home from school offers bounteous opportunities for repeating myself. You know what I love? Repeating myself. A common conversation at my house goes as follows:
Me: "Mom!!! Phone's for you!"
Mom: "Okay, I'll get it!"
Dad: "What? Are you calling me?"
Dad: "Anna! Is the phone for me?"
Me: "No, Dad."
I also enjoy telling stories that only get interesting toward the end. That way, people are bound to say, "wait, who did this?" or, "hold on, what happened?" right when I start wrapping things up. Seeing as my stories change with every telling, this gives optimum opportunity to add a little flavor to my tales. It's like getting to roll the bowling ball three times on the last frame. At least, it seems like it would feel like that. I guess I wouldn't know.
My stories often feature the same characters that always make up my life, yet they remain faceless strangers to my parents each time I begin a story.
Mom: "So, who all was there?"
Me: "The usual. Martin..."
Dad: "Martin Milius?"
Me: "No, Dad. The other Martin we know. Plus Kelsey, Brittney, Tom*..."
Dad: "Tom who? Tom Selleck?"
Me: "No, Dad. The one you always say, 'Tom who?' about."
Mom: "Now, who was there?"
Dad: "Tom Johnson? Oh, that Tom boy in our stake?"
Me: "Oh, you know what? Actually nobody was there."
Unfortunately, this conversational trend seems to be genetic. My mom asked me, "Anna, jfwa io fjlkds take down Christmas decorations today?" I can't possibly understand what she was asking of me. It sounded sort of like, "Anna, jklw vni empty jlki the dishwasher," or, "Anna, afie you're fjiofaeio; too old lkanv watch cartoons."
I have concluded that hearing is a gift not to be wasted or overused.
*Name changed to protect the innocent