Mind Your Own Beeswax

            Have you ever had the misfortune of finding out something you wish you hadn’t? Sometimes the truth is more than I really want to know.  Being nosy or asking too many questions might seem fun at the beginning, but eventually, ‘oops, there it is!’ and I cannot unhear what I just heard.

            The simple, “How are you feeling?” turns into a graphic description of a lanced boil or a replay of what someone had for lunch that didn’t agree with them.  The innocent, “What did you do this weekend?” parlays into a three-part mini-series complete with Instagram reels and photos.

            When I continue to ask, prod, or coax someone to share information, I would do well to mind my own business 99 % of the time, especially when I am asking my adult children questions about their lives.  Navigating life with grown children is quite different than when they were eleven years old, and I had a right to know all about their comings and goings, friendships, what they ate, and how they were feeling.  Overstepping my boundaries was a given back then, but now it is a definite no-no if we want to stay on good terms.

            I used to think I was rather good at finding out things about our kids, but my husband, Boo, is an expert.  He is the master of ‘21’ questions.  He is the guru of gossip, and like Inspector Clouseau, he is a fact-finder to the nth degree. 

            Boo is generally a man of few words, but seat him next to a stranger on the airplane or give him a beer, and he becomes absolutely chatty and will pry into anyone’s life before they know it.  He is adept at asking questions in rapid fire.  Who, what, when, where, why, and how. He is not afraid to ask any question to anyone at any time.

            He is often frustrated by my lack of snooping into our daughters’ lives.

 “Well, did you ask her how much that was going to cost?” he says.

            “No.  It’s none of our business what they spend their money on,”  I answer.

            “Yes, it is.  I think she should save her money or invest it in some stocks. I have a list here of the best ones.”

            “Boo, mind your own beeswax,” I counter.

The expression, ‘mind your own beeswax,’ comes from the 18^th century when the dreaded small pox left scars on people’s skin. To cover the pox marks, women would apply beeswax to their faces.  The story goes that if people got too close to a woman’s face or stared at her covered up spots, she would tell them to “mind your own beeswax.”  Another theory is from the practice of sealing letters with beeswax to prevent others from reading them.  Whichever theory you agree with, the end result is the same, don’t meddle.  Stay in your own lane.  Butt out. 

            Most of the time I try to fly under the radar.  I can sit quietly and entertain myself easily.  I don’t have the need to talk.  I can stay in my own hula hoop, but if there is one lonely elderly person in the grocery store, they will find me.  And, even without asking, I will find out everything they have been thinking and feeling for the last twenty-five years.  I will know their pets’ names; their personal medical diagnosis; vacation plans; their children’s names, where they live, and why they haven’t called in over a month. 

             I rarely initiate these conversations, but I must have that face that says, “Tell me everything.  I really care.”  People tell me why they got divorced; when they found Jesus; their favorite ice cream flavor and how they put on their false eyelashes.

            Once, at Buc-ee’s, I ran in to get a bottle of water while Boo waited at the gas pump.  Twenty-two minutes later I emerged.

            “What happened?” Boo asked.

“ I was paying for the water and noticed the cashier’s false eyelashes were the longest, thickest fake lashes I have ever seen.  I said, “WOW, I love your lashes!,” but I could see the girl thought I was making fun of her, so to make her feel better I said, “No, I really love your lashes.  I wish I could wear those.” 

            I don’t know why I said that.

She proceeded to tell me where she buys them, how much they cost, and step by step instructions on attaching them. Then she explained that her real eyelashes have nearly all been pulled out by the glue, and now she has to wear the false lashes all the time, so her boyfriend won’t know her real eyelashes are gone.

“Don’t get the cheap glue,” she advised. 

 By this time there was a line behind me, and I quickly said, “I’ve learned so much, thank you!  You’ve given me the courage to try it,” and she leaned over the counter and gave me the biggest hug.

 “Go big and dramatic,” she said, “You won’t be sorry.  And have a blessed day,” she added.

“You too,” I called.

            “Wow,” Boo said when I told him the story, “That’s a lot of information.”

            Oh sure, all this could have been avoided had I not said anything about the cashier’s eyelashes.  But don’t you agree that some situations just beg for a question or comment?  In the same way, we want to ask our grown children questions that we probably shouldn’t, even though we think we want to know the answer…we really don’t.  Maybe someday I’ll learn not to ask.  Maybe someday I’ll remember the secret to happiness is minding my own business.

Repeat after me:  The secret to happiness is minding my own business!