Sometimes the damndest conversations take place just within earshot...and while you may not be part of that conversation, the unmodulated volume with which it is conducted ensures that you will be party to it.
One example was the unintentionally hilarious waiting room dialogue described in my post of two days ago.
And, not that we were looking for another example, one happened to fall into our collective laps this afternoon as we noshed on matzoh-ball soup, cabbage borscht, half-sour pickles, and thick meaty deli sandwiches at Noshville, a restaurant in Cool Springs, Tennessee. [We’ve visited their location in Nashville proper and found it excellent...and this one is extremely convenient, being located across the parking lot from our hotel.]
Sitting in a booth adjacent to us was a large group. By which I do not mean there were many people, no. There were only four of ’em, in fact...three men and one woman...but they were humongous. Individually and collectively.
But, despite what some people may say, size doesn’t matter. Well, it does in some areas, but one’s Corporeal Avoirdupois is not an indicator, necessarily, of one’s social acceptability, moral framework, or work ethic. And if you have lived in the American Southland for any length of time, you have seen plenty of Big Folk.
Give me a Big Person any time. Such people generally know how to enjoy life a lot more than those neurasthenic, attenuated gym-rats.
But what had SWMBO’s and the Mistress’s jaws hanging open was not the Physical Dimensions of this bunch. It was their conversation, conducted in voices loud enough to be heard clearly at a distance. A conversation that had to do with the ins and outs (you should excuse the expression) of the fine art of Fellatio.
It’s just not the sort of dialogue you expect to hear in a public setting...at least, not without a token effort on the part of the speakers to ensure that random strangers do not overhear their opinions on the benefits of swallowing versus spitting. (“Think of the protein!”).
Somehow or other, I missed out on all of this, my attention being consumed by the pastrami, tongue, and chopped liver sandwich I was consuming. (“Tongue - the meat that tastes you back!™”). But SWMBO gave me all the details in a tone of bemused, semi-amused faux-horror.
Comedy is all around us, I tell you. You just have to sit back and wait for it to fall into your lap.
One example was the unintentionally hilarious waiting room dialogue described in my post of two days ago.
And, not that we were looking for another example, one happened to fall into our collective laps this afternoon as we noshed on matzoh-ball soup, cabbage borscht, half-sour pickles, and thick meaty deli sandwiches at Noshville, a restaurant in Cool Springs, Tennessee. [We’ve visited their location in Nashville proper and found it excellent...and this one is extremely convenient, being located across the parking lot from our hotel.]
Sitting in a booth adjacent to us was a large group. By which I do not mean there were many people, no. There were only four of ’em, in fact...three men and one woman...but they were humongous. Individually and collectively.
But, despite what some people may say, size doesn’t matter. Well, it does in some areas, but one’s Corporeal Avoirdupois is not an indicator, necessarily, of one’s social acceptability, moral framework, or work ethic. And if you have lived in the American Southland for any length of time, you have seen plenty of Big Folk.
Give me a Big Person any time. Such people generally know how to enjoy life a lot more than those neurasthenic, attenuated gym-rats.
But what had SWMBO’s and the Mistress’s jaws hanging open was not the Physical Dimensions of this bunch. It was their conversation, conducted in voices loud enough to be heard clearly at a distance. A conversation that had to do with the ins and outs (you should excuse the expression) of the fine art of Fellatio.
It’s just not the sort of dialogue you expect to hear in a public setting...at least, not without a token effort on the part of the speakers to ensure that random strangers do not overhear their opinions on the benefits of swallowing versus spitting. (“Think of the protein!”).
Somehow or other, I missed out on all of this, my attention being consumed by the pastrami, tongue, and chopped liver sandwich I was consuming. (“Tongue - the meat that tastes you back!™”). But SWMBO gave me all the details in a tone of bemused, semi-amused faux-horror.
Comedy is all around us, I tell you. You just have to sit back and wait for it to fall into your lap.
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