Oh, Please, Tweet Me

Sometimes the change is scarcely noticeable. You go along, minding your own business, being yourself (so you think), and then it creeps up on you. Like a tip-toed footprint in the deep late night pressing down just so on that one loose board and then, creeeeak. Was it his chuckle, her stage whisper, or the dramatic pause that drove you crazy? It's hard to say, but it's them all right, not you. Or it wouldn't have been you not so long ago. But there it is, and you can't deny it.

It's one thing when it's a partner, but it gets kind of weird when you notice it and a couple hasn't been together very long. Maybe there ought to be a rule about taking on a partner's idiosyncrasies. It's okay after twenty years or so but not before, something like that. I mean, we've got to have time be certain whether we even like it in the other person. After that we can play double your pleasure, double your fun, look out world, here we come.

It's worse when it's our parents. We spend the first half of our lives (ever notice how that number gets bigger all the time?) trying be uniquely us, only to discover we're channeling them in the second. One careless comment and you sound like your mother. Not the words -- no, it's the words, and the tone, and the manner of speaking. OMG, it's her.

I don't know if Twitter will help or not. What's Twitter got to do with it? Well, I'm thinking that if we tweet more and talk less we might develop more of a personal communication style (it could happen). And that would lead to fewer occasions when we feel like we're going into shock and where's the AED (automated external defibrillator) and would somebody please call 911! That will reduce the demand on emergency services, our taxes will go down, and we'll sound like ourselves.

That is, until our parents find out about Twitter.

(Image of Tweetie Pie by Leo Reynolds via Flickr)