I've said it before. I am just not great at small talk. I have about three topics to exhaust before I just give up. Therefore, if I'm with a stranger for more than 4 minutes, things are bound to get awkward. And this need to avoid the awkwardness is important. It's how I pick most service people... my hairdresser, dentist, eye doctor, mechanic... they all just know to leave me the heck alone.
Today, I am not in the mood. For anything. Especially polite chit-chat.
I spent half my day off on the inner-workings of a half-wit only to be struck down with a serious case of Mother Nature roundhouse kicking me in the ovaries.
Then, to top it off, I stopped off at the local drugstore where the cashier, upon seeing my assortment of ibuprofen, tampons, and king size Reese's Peanut Butter Cups, took the opportunity to attempt to engage me in small talk about fireworks.
The rage. Oh, the rage. It was hard to hold at bay. Her only saving grace was the line of witnesses and my paralyzing fear of the U.S. Department of Corrections.
Really? What is wrong with people?