If you missed last week's column, I wrote about the ten signs that might indicate a lightning-fast approach to a state of elevated age. I won't bother with a recap since the information can easily be discovered online, (communitynewslinesville.com), or can be found by unwrapping that freshly caught Walleye and checking page 3 for the pertinent points.

I'm not so sure if what follows is another indicator of reaching middle to above age or, if it's something altogether different. You will have to judge whether or not this issue ties in with hitting warp speed on the road to using a cane as a weapon.

The pressing subject at hand is something that used to cause me to paste a disingenuous smile on my then chunky face and nod politely. Now, sadly, I find myself joining the ranks of those who carry out this once offensive act.

I hope I've kept you alert so far since, frankly, I'm bored already with my own blathering. Here's the moment of truth. I used to carry out a mental eye-roll when I would casually ask someone, in passing, how he/she was doing, only to have him/her REALLY let me know. (This oft occurred when I greeted a table of guests back in the days of servitude, for one example.)

I would say, “Hi, how are you today?” He or she would then proceed to impart total, not partial, information, mainly of a heath issue nature. I would learn about recent surgeries, tooth extractions, emergency cesarean births, ingrown toenail concerns and other very appetizing data.

I have to interrupt myself briefly to say that I'm done writing “he/she, him/her, his/hers.” Hence forth, this will be a he, his, him kind of column. It's too much and I'm stopping it right now. I digress, which is par for the course, as always.

Anyhow, I've clearly taken yet another odd turn in my already crazed life. I too have morphed into a real PITA (pain in the $#@), in terms of LITERALLY letting people know just how I'm doing when they innocently inquire.

Say, for instance, I run into a person at the grocery store and he asks how I'm doing. I absolutely assume that he has been keeping track of my mental state, as outlined completely in this column space several months ago.

I plunge ahead, with speed, agility and rapid word fire and tell “Wide-Eyed Captive” that I'm much better now that I've been placed on the correct medicine—yet, I still have some bad days and good days thrown into the mix—I also find it hard to take on daily tasks at times, however, things are so, so much more bearable now than they were several months ago! (Picture all that in one breathless statement.)

After an uncomfortable moment of silence, the whole encounter forces Wide-Eyed Captive to work up an Oscar-worthy-fake-interest reply and say, (with hand on chest and a gasp for added effect), “I had no idea.” This moves along to entirely too much information on top of the original outburst. It's pretty much a vicious circle of query and narration.

In my own defense, (quit making fun of me for this,would you?), I have to say that in addition to the semi-recent column about my health issues, I also have my own personal fog horn in the form of....Darling Mother. She tends to share with her coffee group all kinds of delightful “facts” about her favorite child. So, I just take it for granted that they tell two friends and so on, until the whole town is well aware of my situation. Not only are they aware, they are, in my mind, dying to ask how I'm doing and get a comprehensive answer.

I mean really, I'm positive that Lisa Houserman is the subject of all light dinner conversations, church sermons and water-cooler chat, throughout the land.

Whatever the reason, I have become one of them. I could blame it on aging, I might point a finger at my delusional assumption that the world revolves around me or, it could be a little of both.

All I know for sure is this: Gone are the days when I could legally poke fun at those who imparted TMI, (too much information), leaving no stone, (kidney stone), left unturned.

So, the next time you spy me walking toward you or the next time I telephone, just avoid the quagmire of insanity and simply adopt the policy of “don't ask, and I won't tell.”