Biting My Tongue

So I ran into an old college friend recently -- one who is infamous among our group for making absurdly bad life choices. She always had the reputation of being one who earnestly asked for advice, and then did exactly the opposite. But, she was charming, and warm, and caring, so she was allowed to hang around with all of us. Over the years, when we speak, I became practiced in the fine art of biting one's tongue. I'd listen to her absurdities, and be tempted to spew out outrage, and advice, but I didn't. I'd just patiently listen, and then offer banalities, like "Well, things all work out," and "I'm sure you'll find your way." I've stopped a bad habit: commenting on FaceBook (tm) after I've had a few drinks. My guard is down, and my posts tend to be edgier than they are when I'm sober. Likewise, when I chat with my friend, I usually do do straight... Well, she got me the other day. I returned to my office late, after a few Titos at my watering hole. I was going over some work, when she called, to tell me about a move to another city. To justifiy and preface it, she laid down her version of her life from 20 years past. It was as if she were talking about someone else. "Really?" I asked. That's not how I remember it. And then, fueled by the Titos, I set things straight. But I didn't. She grew silent -- of course she knew, on a deep level, that I was accurate -- that she practiced revisionist history better than a Soviet propaganda minister. But she just said ...nothing. I felt bad. I had told an innocent child there was no Santa Claus, and there had never been a Santa Claus. So I back tracked, and said "There, there..." and "It will all work out for the best!" As I age, I see more and more the value of biting one's tongue. I just have to get better at doing it at varying levels of intoxication.