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When TMI Means “Please Shut the F#ck Up”
We love you, but please stop sharing shit.
Too much information isn’t an invitation to talk about your deepest darkest secrets. I think TMI is a thin line that people choose to cross when they’re looking for the shock factor.
I’m not perfect. I’m guilty of crossing the TMI line, too. I was sitting at a bar, minding my own business while waiting for friends to show up after work. I noticed a guy staring at me, so I picked up my phone to read my email. He eventually walked over to me and cleared his throat. He said, “You look familiar. Where have I seen you before?” When I told him, “I do porn,” he walked away without saying another word.
My daughter was in town for her eighteenth birthday. We took her to my favorite Hibachi restaurant. She was impressed with the volcano made out of onions, and said her dinner was delicious. I thought I hit a home run for her birthday dinner. I overheard her talking to her dad on the phone the next day. She said, “Yeah. Mom and John took me out to dinner for my birthday. I had shrimp and the shits last night.”
When I was married to my wasband, I spent three days wallpapering the kitchen in our very first house. The wallpaper paste hadn’t been dry for an hour when I heard my wasband arguing with his boss on the kitchen wall phone. The next…
