That’s not the point

There is nothing as irritating as somebody reacting to your story in the wrong way.

Some might argue that there is no ‘wrong’ way to react to a story; that once an anecdote leaves your mouth and enters an ear, it is then the prerogative of the owner of that ear to respond in whatever way they see fit.

“Just because you think your story is a clinker, does not mean that other people should be forced to let on they think the same,” you might say.

This is fair enough.

I have listened to – and told – some absolute stinkers in my day. And on the occasions that, for one reason or another, I have pretended the tale was funnier, more absorbing, or, simply, sadder that it actually was, an additional layer of misery was definitely added to the whole experience.

However, that is not exactly what I am talking about here.

Rather, I am referring to those times when you aim to amuse, but end up causing alarm.

Or go for funny, and end up getting sad.

You know, those instances when the point of your story is not just misunderstood or overlooked, but a new point, one you did not even realise was there, is discovered, causing you to call into question just about everything you thought you knew about the listener.

Here is an example in which I became the person whose character had to be reconsidered.

A while ago, somebody was telling me a story that I now know was intended to invoke disgust.

The story was about a woman who has been going on holidays with the same group of friends for years.

Many of those women have children, but your doll does not.

So, before embarking on their trip, your woman decided to brief the girls on her expectations for the week they would be spending together.

“Here, girls, no harm, but when we are away, I do not want to hear you all chatting about your weins, and showing each other pictures of them every five minutes, right?”

When I was told this story, my face obviously failed to contort in the manner that was expected of it.

The affect which should have come over me, I later found out, was one that said, “Oh my God. That is the most horrendous thing that has happened since they crucified Christ”.

But, instead, my expression must have said, “Sounds like a reasonable enough request.”

To say the teller of this tale was let down by my reaction would be like saying the Shane MacGowan was tipsy that time he fell backwards off the stage.

I could see in the narrator’s eyes that she was second guessing everything she thought she knew about me, and rapidly reassessing her belief that we shared any of the same values.

The reason for our conversational discord?

She was the owner of a child, and I was not.

However, despite the incident itself being rather unpleasant, and, in fact, driving a temporary wedge between me and the teller, I learnt a valuable lesson, and one which has served me well ever since.

People love their kids more than we childless people can imagine, and it would serve us well to never forget it.