What is it with me and loud talkers? First the theater out in California with the geriatric yappers, and then one night when we had dinner in a tiny historic inn (4 tables in the room in which we ate) we were subjected to a woman who expounded with great authority on a wide variety of subjects in a voice that was grating, yet irritating. She was dining with a younger woman whom I took to be her daughter, and a young man who may have been the daughter's new boyfriend (if he was smart, he saw what his maybe-future-wife was going to morph into and ran for the hills). We learned all about the daughter picking up the mother from the airport, the delayed flight, getting home and not being able to sleep, staying up too late watching movies, yadda, yadda, yadda. Sort of like reading someone's journal, only listening to it while eating herbed potato soup and salmon with lingonberry sauce.

Next, we segue to the music store in which Rebecca takes her guitar lessons (the only time during the week when she picks up the guitar, I believe). Usually I wait outside, taking in the scenic view of the XXX store (shouldn't there be a XXX Dollar Store, for those budget minded consumers of sex novelties?), but this time it was too hot to swelter in the car so I sat in the waiting area of the store. One of the clerks was on the phone for most of the half hour lesson, and talked ABOUT EVERYTHING AT THE DECIBEL LEVEL OF A LEAF BLOWER PLACED 2 INCHES FROM YOUR EARS. He was either talking to a child or a senile elder relative, it was impossible to tell, but he did repeat every point he made multiple times. I've blocked out the topics he covered, choosing to reserve those brain cells for death by Pinot Grigio.

I'm fully expecting to learn everything there is to know about the results of the colonoscopy of the person sitting 5 rows behind me when I fly to Florida next week. I will know the length, breadth and depth of his polyps, along with Aunt Bertha's recipe for effective enemas. Sigh.