Loggorhoea? Yep, don’t giggle, it’s a real word. And it’s not just a word, it’s actually considered to be a disease. The exact definition is “an excessive flow of words”, or “diarrhea of the mouth.” I’ll bet when you hear this description you immediately think of a gossipy old woman, right? WRONG!

My husband has this so-called disease. He was never diagnosed by a professional, only by me, but I’m sure of it. He talks constantly and incessantly, more than any man, woman, child or inanimate object. I could be upstairs and he’s downstairs, but he’s talking to me. On the phone….doesn’t matter….he has something important to tell me and it can’t wait. Peak time on my cell – not to worry – he just saw something on TV that I need to know about immediately. He is a friendly guy and will talk to anyone anywhere and at any time. Most people love that about him. “He’s so friendly” they tell me. “My husband never talks to me” and “you’re so lucky” they tell me. But at 1:00 a.m. when I’m exhausted and dying for sleep, and I’m listening to him go on and on about how he had a stuffed dog named Ruffy when he was a little boy, just makes me want to put my hands around his neck and squeeze until he stops. I keep telling him that after midnight unless the conversation contains the words “fire” or “stick ‘em up”, I’m just not interested.

I try to explain to him (in a nice way of course) that when you are talking to people and they are glancing at their watches, you need to cut to the chase. I tell him that sometimes when he’s walking the dog and several neighbors literally run into the house at once, it just might not be a coincidence. I tell him that we all have our little faults (myself included) but he really needs to take it down a notch in the jabber department. And yet he thinks I’m exaggerating. He thinks that’s “just my opinion.” I am the type of person that can get to the point in a minute or less. Rich, not so much. When you ask him the time, he will ALWAYS tell you how to build the clock. So in the spirit of love I’ve made many futile attempts to explain to my darling husband that it’s not just my perception of it – that he really does talk WAY too much. But I am saddened to tell you that he just doesn’t believe me.

One day, not so long ago, I was able to prove my point.

A lady from church called me one afternoon to discuss some business. A few minutes into the conversation she seemed annoyed and said, “Can I call you back at another time – your parrot is distracting me and I keep losing my train of thought.”

I’m thinking, parrot? I have three kids and three dogs, and my dad lived with us at the time, but not a parrot in sight.

Still baffled by her comment, but not wanting to be rude, I said “Sure you can call me back but I don’t have a parrot.” Now the nice church lady seemed equally baffled. “Well then what is all that constant talking in the background?”

It was then that it hit me……”OH that’s not a parrot, that’s my husband Rich.”

Point – set – match.

The beauty of this story is that every time he decides it’s time to discuss one of my perhaps not-so-charming habits (surprising but I do have one or two), I do my “Polly wants a cracker” imitation – shuts him right up.