·                 A discussion overheard at work:

He said he was raped.

Really? By a woman? He weighed 360 pounds back then.

Pretty hard to believe.

Where I come from it’s called adultery, dude.

·                 A waitress told me she could be a real bull in a china closet at times. That sounds so much more crowded than a shop. And dangerous.

·                 Someone said they disliked cats because they’re arrogant. What would you prefer? A bunch of cats with low self-esteem? Like the world needs a bunch of anorexic cats that make continually bad choices about who they sleep with.

·                 People said the Hunger Games was disturbing because it was racist. That’s what you took from a movie about a nationally televised event featuring teens that are selected at random to fight to the death? (Not that I read all three books in, like, a week or anything…)

·                 Another discussion overheard:

I’m pregnant.

Really? Do you know who the father is?

My own inner monologue: Is it me or is that a patently offensive question…

·                 Running a cockfight in Idaho where gambling is present is a felony. Running a cockfight in Idaho where there is no gambling is a misdemeanor. Because uncontroverted evidence establishes that gamecocks actually suffer less if there’s no money involved? This is part of the new “Animal Cruelty” law not an “Anti-Gambling” law. Those roosters need to start laying odds.

·                 Yet another discussion overheard:

She’s pretty cute.

She has decent hygiene. There’s a difference.

He has a point…

·       Adults wearing Velcro shoes. The slip-on loafer is so much more aesthetically pleasing and you don’t even have to bend down to put them on. Consider making the transition.

·       Someone telling me that snitches get stitches. Fine, fine. If you don’t want me to invite her to dinner, I won’t. No need to resort to violence, fellow middle-aged white woman.

·       In homage to The Hangover I’ve been saying “Thanks a lot, Bin Laden,” in response to both good and bad news randomly throughout the day. Some people think I’m referring to 9/11. Others, to his death. Either way, because it’s a line from a movie they rarely ask me to clarify. Instead they just head for the office door and work that fake laugh like Superbowl tickets depend on it. It’s a good way to get some alone time.