Why I hate small talk

So I hate small talk. Of course you know that. That’s why this blog. Small talk has been the bane of my existence right from childhood when I was dragged around to meet friends and relatives by my highly ‘friendly’ family. But quite predictably and rather to their growing alarm, small talk invariably took a back seat during these visits when I spied interesting books I could read or good food I could eat. And my current levels of small talk skills are not much better.

Recently I developed this theory which I call the “Hours and Minutes theory”. So  there are some people with whom I can spend hours at a stretch talking about books, music, films, travel and the like, people who share similar interests and tastes and who I can count among my close friends. People with whom I can be me.

Then there are people who I meet and start panicking in seconds, when I wish I could just become invisible and take out my book and start reading, blocking out the whole world. Of course, its rude, I know, my husband keeps telling me that and I keep getting feedback to be nice and to ‘circulate more’ during social gatherings from all sorts of people. But I am scared that the mask of politeness that I try donning for these occasions will drop off any second leaving me exposed, vulnerable and just not me. I may be a good friend but am quite surely a terrible acquaintance.

Take me to a party full of unknown people and I sweat and fret and falter and make gaffes of the worst social kinds. Recently, I resorted to watching the rain at a party when I ran out of polite things to say, which was obviously very quickly.

One such ‘no small talk’ gaffe is captured in the limerick below:

Why I hate small talk

O, how lovely, dear, so nice to see you today,

Do come home, we must catch up, so she does airily say,

French manicured nails in long fingers raised in an elegant wave.

Which day I ask? Silence descends. And it's another close social shave!

O when will I learn the art of small talk the right way?