dale bridges

I first started to notice it as a child. People would ask me to repeat myself constantly. I hated doing this, of course, because the reason I mumbled in the first place was because I was shy and didn’t want to draw attention to myself. Having to repeat myself always caused a minor panic attack and consequently I spoke even softer the second time around. When I was little, I would often just run away from the person I was talking to (a solution that works surprisingly well in many social situations, even to this day), but as I’ve grown older, I have decided to embrace my true nature. I mumble. I’m a mumbler. Deal with it.

Over the years, I have discovered that mumbling is a decent way to comment on the inane world around you without suffering the consequences of a publicly expressed opinion. If you don’t like the woman who smells like instant soup sitting next to you on the bus who is screaming into her cell phone about her intimate medical problems…mumble. If you’re starving to death in the middle of a road trip through Nebraska and your friend insists on finding a restaurant that serves vegan tofu because he watched Seven Years in Tibet last week and now he thinks cows are sacred creatures…mumble. If the person in front of you at the movie theater thinks their own commentary is more interesting than the dialogue happening on the screen AND that person happens to be large enough to beat ever-loving crap out of you in the parking lot after the show…just mumble.

Some people pray. Some people meditate. Some people send out positive vibes into the universe. I mumble.