We're keen on the whole hold 'em, fold 'em conundrum, something that apparently came naturally to rugged types who played poker in Wild West saloons.

We've also been known to bandy about, "Discretion is the better part of valor," when the decision-making process comes up.

That notion comes not from dusty American beer joints but rather a beer's namesake, Falstaff, Shakespeare's lovable sot and coward in his Henry IV plays.

Falstaff says, "The better part of valor is discretion, in the which better part I have saved my life." Despite the line's heroic tenor, Falstaff is describing his playing dead on the battlefield.

We are faced with other significant options, too: Paper or plastic? Fries or coleslaw? One lump or two?

Now a new book by a business adviser asks whether we are making the right choice when it comes to one of life's most important decisions:

Knowing when to shut up.

Mike Staver, CEO of the Staver Group, a business consulting firm, has written "Do You Know How to Shut Up? And 51 Other Life Lessons That Will Make You Uncomfortable."

Staver contends that too many have lost the art of putting a sock in it, that even the smartest among us can't dummy up when we need to.

According to Staver, chief among the long talker's sins is belaboring the point, repeating and rambling long after the horse is in the ground.

While he points no specific fingers, the prints of parents, politicians and bosses were all over a press release about the book.

Uncomfortable silence

I know what you're thinking.

He resembles that remark or at least should have listed newspaper columnists, too.

But Staver is writing about speech, the overexercise of oral expression, not writing.

I may yet read Staver's book and acknowledge myself inside its pages. I'm rarely mistaken for the strong, silent type or plainspoken, but a long talker? Me?

It's a matter of perception.

For example, what I may see as critical, additional details, my very wise wife categorizes as harping.

Or what I believe is necessary to successful parenting, my son may insist is nothing more than an eye-roll-inducing rehash of what I told him two weeks ago and two months ago.

There is, also, that moment of truth in my classroom among my students, when the bulb goes off, an impenetrable glaze arrives, induced by what Staver calls a love affair with the sound of your own voice or a discomfort with silence.

Gee, and all this time I thought I was molding young minds, inspiring a generation of thinkers, arming the youth of America with knowledge.

Apparently, I didn't know when to stow it, to put a lid on it, to make mum the word.

To shut up.

Need to read

I'm still not convinced I've lost the ability to be quiet, but I'll summarize Staver's solutions to rediscovering the art of clamming up. None of these are particularly insightful but rather the product of common sense.

For starters, he encourages you to know what you are attempting to say before you say it. What's that old saw about the brain being on before mouth is in gear? Something like that.

Don't ever get distracted, either. Use ending techniques or words such as "sum up" or my favorite when faced with a long talker, "goodbye."

Don't overload your listener. So you might want to rethink that Civil War chronology you were going to detail for your 3-year-old.

Oh, yeah, fitting a miniseries into a 30-second spot never goes unpunished.

Finally, ask someone you trust to tell you the truth about your long-windedness. Of course, alert talkers will have already recognized the glazing or rolling of the eyes, the deep sleep of those in the back row or the widespread weeping in the meeting when you start to talk.

Yes, alert talkers would recognize that.

Smart ones would decide to change.

The unconvinced might need to read the book.