Overheard in living rooms, mine and others’:
“I’ve got to be honest…and honestly, I don’t think that the orcs will punish them for that.”
“Don’t I have that portable exsanguinator handy?”
“Well, what are your thoughts? …On what? On the infinite blood coming out of this snake.”
“Use it. Make us look like snake people.”
“Also, we’re going to be holding up a giant eyeball.”
“I like to ingest small businesses”
(It took me a moment to realize that he had, sadly, said “invest in”)
On waiting rooms:
More people try to talk to me in waiting rooms than in bars. Or, at least, the ratio of people in waiting rooms deciding that it’s the time to strike up a conversation is higher than that of people in bars. I get it: waiting rooms are boring. Maybe you’re waiting for a doctor, dentist, or other entity you would really prefer not to see. You may have been waiting a long time. But when I’m in the waiting room at the doctor’s office (and I’m there frequently, because I’m a hypochondriac who lives a block away from the doctor), I’m not at my most relaxed; I’m trapped; I’m trying to keep one ear attuned to the door, where someone will soon appear and call my name; probably, I am wearing pajamas.
I prefer to spend my waiting room time either with my Kindle or texting my parents form texts based on the kind that women get when they’re pregnant and receiving weekly updates about the baby’s size and development:
“Your baby…is now the size of a record-setting prize-winning squash! Her blood pressure is 104/69 and so far cholesterol is still low. “
