...learn discretion, and use it. Do not over-share your physical ailments. Do not complain to people you don't know about your evil in-laws/ex-spouses/past criminal history. Not only does no one want to hear it, it makes you seem trashier than you may be.
I learned that a long time ago. Before I graduated high school, even. I didn't talk about my problems. Nobody else knew the books I read, so I couldn't talk about that, except sometimes with teachers. I didn't watch the same shit everyone else did. That meant that I spent high school talking about...not much. And to very few. I joked around with friendly acquaintances about their relationships.
I did not--did not--talk about how my mother was a whiny, lazy bitch that locked herself in her room and refused to take care of us, so I had to do everything. I did not whine about not feeling good, even when I wasn't. I didn't talk about my dad, and all the awful things he did to us, or threatened us with (except to the principal, when he was driving through the school parking lot, looking in the windows, when he should have been at work two hours away).
I do not talk about the childbirth part of having my kids. I don't talk about the nasty part of getting my wisdom teeth out, I didn't talk about the problems I had with them before I had them taken out, and I really didn't show people what they looked like.
And, Mrs. Obama, I certainly don't call my children "fat." Especially since neither of them are--much like your two beautiful daughters.
40 minutes ago