“Your voice is really loud,” a complete stranger said to me yesterday at pickleball.
“Yes, I know,” I replied.
“I could hear you on the court from here,” he continued.
“That’s not surprising,” I said. “We’re only about 6 feet away.”
“Well,” he continued, “I also notice you’re wearing headphones.”
“Yes,” I replied, “but I haven’t turned them on yet.”
“Oh,” said he, “I think you’re loud because you can’t hear yourself.”
“Oh, no, darlin’, I can hear myself just fine. I’m loud. My voice is big and booming.”
Now at this point, I am laughing inwardly. He’s perplexed. I don’t know this guy from Adam but for some reason, he really wants me to know I’m ‘loud.’ So, finally, I say:
“Look, I’m loud because I’ve spent the last 40 years developing my voice. I do vocal exercises. I’ve sung all over the country for thousands of people. My vocal cords are super muscular. That’s why I’m loud.”
What exactly was he trying to accomplish? I could have replied in kind: “You know what? Your legs are skinny. Your voice is meek and also? You might consider shaving. You’re very hairy.” The irony? Had he not been so hell bent on telling me what I do that irks him, I wouldn’t have found a single thing wrong with the man. But after his persistent harangue? I found him completely repulsive.
Here’s what I don’t get. What is it about some people who just have to tell you what they think you’re doing wrong? What gives them the right to attempt to keep you ‘in line’ according to their own personal decorum? I would never say something like that to anyone, let alone a complete stranger. If I find someone offensive, I simply avoid them. Or, I try to find something I like about them. I don’t try to improve them.
Seriously, who has the nerve to tell a flower not to bloom? Not me. Petal on my friends. Petal on.
AGEFULLY AGING 
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