So here I am at work, sitting in my office a bit bored--I did my filing, created notebooks for all my committees, planned the term--in short, accomplished a week's work in a few hours, and so I was about to reward myself with a little game of solitaire, when the phone rings.
It was Martha! Of Martiviri and Viviii fame!!!
It took me a second to orient myself, because I just got my new phone last night. Christy set it up with a stupid ringtone (stupid! you better fix it, Titi), and then suddenly, here I am talking with Martha for over an hour.
After all the important stuff, the kids, the husbands, the old folks, you know, all the catching up stuff, we got down and dirty and talked about stuff with real substance. We trashed our friends who've had plastic surgery.
There, now that's a typical conversation. Ok, maybe not typical, but typically quirky. This aging thing carries with it new material, you know. No more "Guess who likes So-and-So?" Now it's replaced by the catty "Guess who got a boob job!"
In typical Martha fashion, she pointed out the obvious: what good is it having perky boobies when the rest of you is hanging down to your ankles?"
Ah, such wisdom.