A statement emitted from my seat-mate on the train last Sunday night at late o'clock.
As she took her shoes off.
And put her, umm, "fragrantly" odoriferous feet up on the flip-down tray.
As I held my breath.
And glared a hole through her patchouli scented soul.
And reflected on the fact that patchouli and "feet" are smells that make me want to throw up a little in my mouth. Especially when they are combined into a horrific conglomeration of ewwww.
But I digress.
*ahem*
"It sure is a cryin' shame that I can't watch mah stories tonight. Now where did I done put mah Fritos?".
Yup, she said "mah" not "my".
And then launched into an hour long diatribe on the merits of the show "Passions" and how her life has been touched by the "troubles" that the characters go through. As though she knew them. Personally.
As I perfected the smile and nod technique and contemplated the relative merits of poking myself in the ear drums with the stir stick from my tea.
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