Monday, July 11, 2011

I could smell lawsuits a-brewing

Yesterday, my Irish Boxer Husband and I were talking about how people I meet seem to feel compelled to share their deepest, darkest secrets within the first ten minutes of shaking my hand. My first visit to a new primary care doctor resulted in finding out about the saga of their pregnancy successes and tragedies (and I was not there for anything fertility-related). A makeup artist I hired for our wedding gave me a dollar-by-dollar rundown on how much she gets (or doesn't get, depending on the month) in child support from her ex-husband, who is now looking to get re-married to his new (insert choice words) girlfriend but is getting laid off and while she secretly loves that the new (insert new choice words) girlfriend is going to have to be the breadwinner, she also knows this means she's not going any more child support for awhile. See what I mean? And I never pry, most likely because I'm not sure I really want to know; all this information is just volunteered...

Anyway, the IBH suggested I may need to pursue a degree in psychology so I can let people tell me things for a living. My first reaction was "hmmm." My second reaction was "wouldn't work." "Why not?" he asks. Well, because this would be me, of course:

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