The Oversharer

The Oversharer

The Hubs and I were so looking forward to Amazon Prime’s production of Jack Reacher. We thoroughly enjoyed the first season, and since then, Hubs has read quite a few Lee Child novels. I’ve also consumed a couple, though not as many because he multitasks his consumption of words with the consumption of lunch, and the pages catch all the fallout. If you want to see this dynamic play out for the first time, check out Ghosts With a Side of Cheese.

Recently, Hubs read the novel that Season 2 is based on, Bad Luck and Trouble.

We finally got an evening when we could begin, and we settled down to watch.

Then it happened.

The Hubs got excited.

Folks, let me be clear. He CANNOT find a filter or a mute button or a pause-and-think mode when he’s excited. He can’t.

And when watching a movie or attending an event that he’s experienced before, he tends to… overshare.

He. Cannot. Help. Himself.

To be fair, we should all keep in mind that this was his very first “read it before watching it” event.


In his whole life.

He’s a relatively new reader. Not that he just learned how to read, but he did just recently discover the joy of reading fiction—which is to be commended.

Side rant:

Perhaps we should focus first on making reading thrilling/joyful/adventurous before making reading laborious/analytical/test-oriented. How wonderful would it be if children carried reading with them into adulthood like a cherished best friend instead of abandoning books altogether when school days are done?

And kudos to those adults who have rediscovered the joy of story—welcome to the party!

End rant.

Here’s how that first episode of Reacher Season Two went:

I settle on the couch. He settles in his recliner. Fuzzy blankets and kitties everywhere. Little Miss Muse is popping corn (I hope it’s corn) in the kitchen.

As I queue up the first episode, I ask, “Are you gonna be able to handle this, or should we watch separately? Because I might still read the book.” (If it’s not covered in Cheeto dust.)

“I won’t spoil it,” he promises, but I detect a squeak on that ending. And he’s doing that thing with his jaw. Deep, deep down, even he knows he can’t be trusted.

The intro material plays. Just the first few seconds of the intro.

“Yes! They're starting off with—”

I hit pause. “Nope.” He hangs his head. I hit play.

“You know—”

Press pause. “No!” He turns his head back to the screen. His jaw grinds. He’s struggling.

I press play.

“I’m glad that they—”

Pause. Again.

“Oh my word. I’m going to leave and then binge it tomorrow. In peace. By myself.”

Like a scolded puppy, he pouts and refocuses his attention.

At the 6-minute-26-second mark, I hit pause for the fourth time. This is not counting the two times I hit pause during the opening credits and recap.

He tries again. Again, I scold, beg, plead, and cut him off. Over and over.

Those two little vertical lines are about to wear completely off of the remote’s pause button.

“How would you like to be portrayed in the blog post?”

“What post?”

“The one where I explain to my Readers what an Oversharer is. And to warn the friends who read the blog to not mention stories in any form in your presence that they have not yet enjoyed for themselves.”

He seems hurt.

Nearly yelling now, I proclaim, “Not a word. Not one more word!”

But he couldn’t help himself.

Because, Oversharer.

He simmers down, and we get through Episode 1. Still, my attention is shot, and I don’t know what’s happening because I’m bracing for more information/opinions/spoilers to be thrust upon me from the direction of the recliner.

When the credits roll, he declares, “The book is better.”

Of course, it is.

The book is always better.

This has been the case since the dawn of screenplay adaptations. There are memes about it, bookmarks printed with that very declaration—sweatshirts even.

I declare I want to experience for myself which is better. I find the analysis of print-to-screen fun. But in this case, I won’t need to decide for myself, because, Oversharer.

“Not one more word. None.”

To be fair, it wasn’t until the third agonizing episode that I discovered this was his first experience with The-Book-Was-Better phenomenon. After this realization, I approached our viewing time with a little more understanding but continued to utter, “Not one more word.”

Which he continued to ignore, of course.

Because he can’t help himself.

My poor Hubs hears “Not one more word” in other situations, too. Namely when he enters the kitchen as I’m struggling with sharp objects, smoldering skillets, or boiled-over bits. (We all have our demons, don’t we? He need not share his opinion about my lopsided culinary efforts. I’ve already read that book—print, audio, and e-book…)

What he can do is call the Mexican restaurant and get us some chips and queso. Get two orders, and we’ll overshare.

We’ve had the “things we’ll not overshare” discussion sooo many times. Off-limit topics include:

  • Works in progress
  • To-be-read titles
  • Movies—not even parts of the trailers
  • Grossness that boys generally find thrilling
  • Viruses

Things you’re allowed to over-share:

  • Love
  • Joy
  • Peace
  • Notebooks
  • New places to buy nice pens
  • New places to buy more books that we won’t discuss until both of us have read them.

To prevent further angst, I’ve developed the following ruleset:

  1. We will only watch things together that neither of us has seen OR read.
  2. Not One More Word will still stand firm for TBR piles. (I’ll add in a Not One More Cheeto clause, too…)
  3. Zero words when I’m struggling in the kitchen (unless I don’t happen to see the growing flames—then, feel free to speak up). Save the words for El Caballo Blanco, por favor.

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