So. I'm standing in line yesterday at Rite Aid.
The line is obnoxiously long... rare for the middle of the day... and there was a gentleman standing behind me who decided to pass the time by striking up a conversation... with me. (I'm always the lucky one...)
The guy is maybe... mid sixties. Grey. Kinda balding. He looks like a pretty regular guy though. Nothing particularly special about him... but nothing telling me to dig my earbuds out of my purse and act like I can't hear him, either.
He's holding a receipt and an unopened box of Odor Eaters, those things you put in your shoes to absorb foot odor.
"All I need to do is make a return," he starts. "At this rate, the refund deadline will come and go before I make it to the register."
I laugh politely. The line is long... but that joke was wack tho.
"I bought these things a couple days ago," he continues holding up the Odor Eaters, "because for the life of me I could not figure out why my feet smelled so bad. I'm a pretty clean guy, you know? But no matter how many showers I took, the smell just would not go away."
At this point, the alarm is going off in my head. Boy, did I misread this one. I immediately go fishing in my purse for those damn earbuds.
"Who knew," he said, "that you had to actually wash between your toes with your rag to get your feet clean real good? You would think all the soapy water running down your body when you rinse would be enough, but no! You actually gotta scrub them. I wish I'd gone to see the doctor BEFORE I spent all this money on these things."
I'm kinda... stuck at this point. One, I'm appalled at this man's complete willingness to share this much personal information with a stranger. Two, I'm sad that this man has lived his whole ass life never washing between his funky ass toes. Can you imagine? Sixty some odd years of shower dirt runoff and sadness all jammed between his toes, causing funk so bad this man had to see a doctor about it...
...only to be told to wash between his toes... and then have the courage to tell me, a complete stranger, about his dirty ass feet and his complete unintelligence in this area of grooming.
He's staring at me, waiting for a response. Meanwhile, my face looks like this:
Luckily, at that moment, the register becomes available, and I have never been so eager to spend money on shit I don't actually need in my entire life.
He and I finished our transactions around the same time (my lucky streak continues. yay.), so being the gentleman that he was, he held the door open for me as we walked to our cars. As I reached my truck, he says, "So, you think I could take you out sometime? Or..."
Before I finish the story, I have something to say.
LISTEN TO ME.
The Innanets have convinced us that people give a shit about the intimate details of our lives, and so we have become a culture of overshare. Some of you post pictures when you travel, when you go out, when noteworthy things happen in your lives, when you look goof af and think Instagram needs to see your 'fit... and I love that. Social media is a place where you share the parts of you that are dope. The parts that are interesting or honest or uplifting.
Some of you, however, share too much.
You give us all the intimate details of the stuff we have no business knowing. Social media sites are public platforms, but please, use discretion and common sense. Facebook is not the place where you share the discomfort of your constipation, beloved. Ask for prayer and keep it pushing, Literally... and figuratively...
We love seeing the pictures of you and Lil Ricky when times are good, but baby listen. You and Lil Ricky are fighting... again.... and you're just gonna take him back... like you did the last 12 times. Stop sharing that shit. We are tired for you. Love him. Leave him. We don't care at this point. Just please, shut up about it.
Just take a second and consider what is for the internet, and what is better shared within the confines of your group chat, in the pages of your journal, or whispered only when you have a little talk with Jesus. Social media is not the place for your overshare. Know why?
Because you get so used to oversharing on social media that you start doing it out loud in real life. And then you're the balding gentleman in the Rite Aid line talking about your foot odor and how your dumb ass never thought to floss some soap and water between your toes with intention every now and then.
I blame social media for the lack of tact people have developed in sharing the way-too-personal details of their private lives with the world. Some people do it for attention. Others, for validation. This culture of overshare is amazing. This man really thought that, of all the things he could've said to me, that was the thing he thought I should know.
Don't be this guy. Exercise discretion when you share out loud or online. Have some boundaries. Leave some things to the imagination (or to my nightmares, you old stinky foot ass man).
Back to my story. About his proposition--
Turns out he is also not interested in being my sugar daddy. Oh, well. You miss 100% of the shots you never take.
So, ladies and gentlemen, what did we learn today?
Some things are better left unsaid, folks. They should also be untyped, unTweeted, unFacebooked, and unInstagrammed. Untexted. Some stuff you should only say when you pray... silently.
Jesus cares for you so much that he died for you. I'm sure he'd love to hear all about your smelly feet. Tell Jesus. Tell your mama. Just. Don't. Tell. ME.
Because EYE don't care.
I should've just dug up my nose.
I write because a lot of what I have to say is too crass and inappropriate for me to say out loud.