Being a purveyor of unimportant stuff is no crime, but an over-explainer of said stuff is a serious misdemeanour according to my family’s court. I openly admit that my pearls of wisdom won’t pay the bills, bring world peace or solve our climate problems, but surely Your Honours I am the victim here? A victim of growing up in an era where people communicated in whole sentences, and had the time and inclination to make a short story long.
My name is Jo, and I’m an O-E (over-explainer) and O-S (over-sharer) with low-grade I-D (interpretive dance) tendencies. My defence relies on my brief and superficial study into this ‘Josplaining’ where I have identified a number of manifestations of these conditions, and hope to demonstrate to the jury their net benefit to society. Let’s look at some examples.
The “I don’t want you to think bad of me” Over-Sharing with Over-Explaining.
One morning I washed my hands but skimped on drying. I immediately entered my daughter’s bedroom uninvited where I sat on her bed and put one arm around her, resting my other hand on her forearm. “Sorry honey, my hands are wet because I just went to the toilet then washed them,” I explained heading down the slippery slope of over-explaining. “But I did use soap so it’s not dirty-wet,” I added with a minor over-sharing violation.
“Mmm, they smell nice!” I exclaim holding my hand to my nose trying to allay any fears as to my hygiene regimen, at which point I am fast approaching out of control. As the umpire in my head reached for her whistle, I was quick to add, “sorry honey, too much information” which, ironically, was too much information! My daughter, barely awake, croaked, “I…DON’T…CARE.”
The “I’m worried you’ll get lost, and I wonder how you’ve gotten this far in life without me,”
Over-Explaining with Interpretive Dance.
If there are ever directions to be given, I am convinced I am the only person on the planet capable of giving those lost souls any hope of finding their way. Directions to the shops, the airport, the trails on my local nature park. This also applies to directions on how to use things like the coffee machine or the lawn mower, which I’m sure you can imagine is interpretive dance gold because of the rip cord.
At our local shops one day, a customer was asking an employee directions to a bank. Not only did I butt-in but proceeded to wave my hands about with the pageantry of a peacock train-rattling his plumage. For anyone that has watched the Netflix series “The OA”, there was a good chance I was going to conjure up a dimension-travelling portal; or dislocate my shoulder.
This display of interpretive-dance can only be eclipsed by the incident with some unsuspecting tourist in Canberra. Not everyone knows the Australian of the Year plinths along the edge of Lake Burley Griffin are actually musical notes to the tune of our national anthem. Well the tourist I met that day certainly do now, as I leapt along the water’s edge pointing theatrically at each plinth singing “Australians all let us rejoice..” not once, but a number of times to reinforce their understanding.
The “My decision is final but let me give you 20 reasons to support my argument,” Over-Explaining.
This one is easily understood for anyone who has kids. My parental role to protect, and their role to resist usually comes with hours (sometimes days) of over-explaining as to why they shouldn’t drive down to the coast on that country road on a wintery night with four friends when they’ve only had their licence one week. Links to road-toll statistics, explanations as to how car insurance works, the print-out of the regional bus timetable was just the beginning of what should have been a simple and firm “no”.
The “I like being friendly, so let me tell you intimate details about my family,” Vicarious Over-Sharing.
I inherited this from my mum, so let me give her story as an example to save myself further embarrassment. Elaine (mum) and I were at the Fish and Chip shop waiting for our order when I was 12. Sitting next to us in the plastic bucket chairs was another customer, who after 10 minutes knew all about my recently purchased trainer bra. Beam me up Scotty!
In my defence, Your Honours, I don’t believe that over-sharing or over-explaining, with or without interpretive dance, is a bad thing. My willingness to not leave travellers uninformed or lost could be considered admirable by some, like a community service. Backing up my parenting decisions with hard evidence rather than just a “do as you’re told” attitude might teach my kids reasoning and research skills. I have no explanation, however, for sniffing my recently washed hands or assuming people can’t make coffee, so for that I plead guilty as charged.
In closing, if the Court pleases, a final word (or forty). To all my fellow O-E, O-S and I-D sufferers, I leave you with this. Take comfort in the knowledge you’re not alone and err on the side of caution with egg-sucking instructions and grandmas.
