Oh, shut up, guys

THERE are two kinds of children.
Those who maintain the family image and do not offer information to others.
Those who volunteer such information without even being asked.
Our daughters belong squarely in the second category and on each occasion that we intend to spend a few days with sundry friends or relatives we go through this in-house conference on discretion being 99.9 percent of valor.
Now, kids, don’t talk about our house, the domestic help, how mom had a row with aunt Anita, how dad was in trouble at the office, why the cook left, the misunderstanding with mother-in-law, nothing, we must maintain a united facade and not be giving away the family secrets, OK, is that a deal.
Sure, dad, no sweat.
Yes, OK, not as if we do (Ha).
Two days into our stay, the hostess will say, your girls are so sweet, they are telling us yesterday how come you broke off with Arun and Anita, that’s sad, we thought you four were inseparable, did she really let you down like that.
On the third day, the hosts know eleven of the banned items of conversation listed before we left home. So much for the pact we made.
That evening when we have a moment together, my wife will say, why did you need to spill the beans, have you seen how careful their kids are, you girls just rabbit on and on.
Hey, says Senior, she asked.
Yah, says Junior, I mean it was in passing, no big deal. (These are kids who got a swank education at super swank prices).
I didn’t tell them about the cook, says Senior.
I did says Junior, she wanted to know if Mum ever goes to the kitchen and if Dad gives her a monthly expense and how many credit cards we have, whatwhatwhat, it was just conversation.
You told them about the cook, says my wife, now working herself up into a lather.
Uh huh, I told them how he answered you back once and you turned to dad and said, how can you stand there letting him talk like that and dad said, oh, come on, ignore it, how will we get a visa for a new fellow, you think visas grow on trees, and then you had this flaming row and finally you said, either the cook or me ... why ,what’s the problem?
I thought we had made it clear you wouldn’t talk about the home affairs, says my wife.
It’s just a story, mom don’t get so heated up.
I am not heated up, I just don’t want you yammering away about private family matters and while we are on the subject, don’t you dare mention the jewelry I brought with me.
Long silence.
You have mentioned it?!!
Well, sort of, just about how beautiful it was, and how much, and how you carried it through Customs.
I don’t believe this, why can’t you children learn to shut up.
Good idea, I say, and don’t please discuss my financial position.
What financial position, says Senior.
You don’t have a position, says Junior, you are not even in the frame, you aren’t even near the crease, you are in another stratosphere, you are out of sync, you are not even an also ran in the money game.
Anyway, says my wife, not a peep from today on anything, and if anyone tries to pry you clam up, is that understood?
Cool.
Right ho.
Two days later the hostess is sitting all frosty and frigid.
Something wrong.
She sprays chilled rage.
Did you stop the children from talking to me, she says.
Of course not.
Senior whispers me aside. Dad, she wants to know what your salary is.
You are not going to tell her.
Of course not, you think I want to look silly, by the way have I told you about this dress sale on in town, so Junior and I were wondering...
Blackmailers!!
Silence costs, Dad, nothing is for free.