WeaselMomma Calling Margaret, I'm Not God

I am a good friend and a good listener, or so I've been told. This has many benefits. You manage to pick up a great many details and insight into people when you take the time to listen. If you pay quiet attention when someone is speaking about their problems and hear them all the way through, you can spout out any kind of fortune cookie/cracker jack/horoscope kind of advice and they will think of you as the Dali Lama. This has it's perks.

The downside of being viewed as a great listener is people feel free to talk to you about anything. And. I. Do. Mean. Any. Thing.

Seriously. What makes you people (no, of course I am not talking about you. You are the exception - eye roll) think I want to hear about all the TMI stuff? Really now, unless it it gut busting funny in a completely embarrassing, humiliating, self-deprecating kind of way, i.e. this or this, I. Do. Not. Want. To. Know.

Do not feel it necessary to tell me 'Aunt Flo' came to visit, unless it happened very publicly and unexpectedly in the middle of a vampire convention. I do not need the blow by blow of your issues with constipation without a story line including a campground and 12 interested pre-schoolers, and a lack of facilities or privacy. The bomb squad being called would be a plus.

If your breasts are tender and swollen, keep it to yourself unless they got there in a very unconventional type of way that I can make fun of you for. If your crotch is raw, only tell me if it happened by way of a freak accident with a cheese grater. I do not wish to here about marital relations unless you wound up in a neck brace. I don't want to know that you use Preparation H unless your spouse confused it with the toothpaste.

I really have no interest as to what kind of underwear you sport, unless it managed to cause an accident in a major intersection, involving a truck driver who was very excited or it was blocking his entire windshield. Do not tell me anything about your tampons unless your kids put them in a cage and named them as pets. Your dogs troubles with worms can be kept to yourself, unless it involves your mother - in - laws carpeting.

This is not to say that you can't turn to me with a personal problem. I am here for you. Here's an example of a acceptable exchange:
You: I'm all crampy and have a headache.
Me: Here's some Advil.
(Now we change topics)

Now please keep in mind that funny and absurd, like this and this, are acceptable. It you have the need to share these types things, without the benefit of a punchline, feel free to talk with your doctor. He gets paid to listen to this kind of crap.

Clarification Update: This is only a jest. Just the scary crap that pours from my head and amuses me. Completely not reality based. Just an excuse to link to 4 different gut busting funny posts. This concludes our jest of the Weasels Don't Get Paranoid System. This was only a jest.
Mr. Weasel said it sounded angry and funny, I was just going for the latter.