Attacked

Augh. I’ve been ambushed. She’s sitting behind me with a high ponytail and curly red hair … a loudtalker. You know the kind … the woman who talks loud enough that the whole coffee shop hears about her son’s stomach rash; the man who blathers on for all to hear about his most recent business success. I don’t understand this lack of modesty. I feel bad for my cute, little eardrums. Perhaps I should be more concerned about the future hearing capabilities of those on the other end of the phone … but I’m not.

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