Everyone born into this world has at least one talent. The question is—do eccentric accomplishments fall in the same category as talents? In other words, are some gifts better appreciated when you don’t share?
I have one of those, what I consider, ‘better appreciated when not shared,’ talents. My husband feels differently. He thinks the sheer magnitude of my gift is extraordinary. I, on the other hand, felt that my talent was best concealed until after I had a big shiny diamond on the fourth finger of my left hand.
The first time I exposed this rare gift Rick was so flabbergasted that when he could finally speak it was with whispered reverence.
“I was wrong. My cousin Lonny is not the person in the world most worthy of being recorded in the Guinness Book of World Records. He would bow to you.” I assume I was supposed to feel flattered.
My talent isn’t something I can command. It imply explodes from me. Last week when it burst forth, Rick was once again astounded “Honey, do you practice when no one is home?”
“Of course, every time I wash a dish or clean the toilet I reward myself by rushing to the mirror so I can watch myself perform. Some days I practice so much it’s hard to get anything else done” Rick can be so ridiculous! A few days later, however, I even amazed myself.
Rick is a cherry addict and one night I joined him in eating enough cherries to keep a small, third world village in fruit for the entire winter. All of a sudden a monumental bubble started in my big toe, rolled through my body like an avalanche, over all my organs, and exploded through my mouth.
The titanic explosion lasted a full sixty seconds. The windows rattled. The bed swayed. Rick choked and spewed half chewed cherries and pits across the room. When the bed finally stopped rocking and rolling he swallowed the few remaining cherries in his mouth and said, “Don’t tell me you’re not practicing.”
The moral of the story is—it’s better to burp and bask in fame than hold it in and explode in pain.