Guilty Pleasures: Eavesdropping

First in a Series of Essays on Guilty Pleasures!

I’ve always wished to be invisible. When my children were young and we named the super-power we most envied, I always chose the invisibility cloak. No bionic strength, or x-ray vision for me--just the joy of wafting among people like smoke, harvesting bits and pieces of their stories.

I revel in the sweetness as well as the juice—like the opening of the movie Love Actually, as travelers reunite at the airport Arrivals Gate and we witness the soft side of relationships--affectionate, awkward, joyful, passionate, tender. The huggers, the kissers, the children vaulting into their parents arms, the lovers crying as their partner departs.

I’ve heard it said that reading is like eavesdropping—an invisible passage to the lives of others. No wonder I love reading so much.

Eavesdropping is gossip’s sneaky sister. It’s why the Bridgerton crowd, from queen to footman, adore Lady Whistledown. She embodies the voyeur in all of us.

I’m amazed at how quickly people forget that others can hear them—on airplanes, in waiting rooms, at restaurants. I sometimes hold my seat in the Ladies Room when a juicy conversation is taking place. Best eavesdrop ever was at a high school reunion. I stayed put for twenty minutes as my classmates dished while touching up their makeup.

When my kids were teenagers, I loved driving the carpool. Within minutes, they forgot about the adult in the front seat and wandered into their own revealing banter. I learned alot.

It can also be fun to throw a bone to the eavesdroppers around us. I dated a guy who loved tantalizing innocent listeners. Once, at a drive-through bank, he waited until the teller came on the intercom, pretended he didn’t hear her, turned to me and howled,

“What do you mean, you’re pregnant?”

I wish Margaret Mead could join me at my local pub, where I sit as close to the bar as possible to observe the regulars who gossip and confide. Newcomers preen and prowl and practice their pick-up lines. Online daters begin a delicate mating dance.

This is my kind of anthropology. Once, as the plot thickened, I leaned so far back to hear the whispered end of the story that my chair tipped over.

Busted.

Please share your best eavesdropping stories…and welcome to the club!