This is what happens when svmadelyn lures me in with promises of not boredom. I get to see *this*.
1.) My flist is a terrible place. You have all traumatized me for life. However.
2.) This, if generalized over the male population, has explained two odd recent things.
a.) The guy that came to sit down with me and discuss all the variations of prostate cancer and warning signs the other day with no prompting from me--or actual, you know, eye contact, and
b.) Why my sister has, somehow, managed to talk me into an outing on the lake with two engineers with the terrifying words "you'll enjoy talking to them. They're your kind of people." And I couldn't figure out what on earth that was supposed to mean.
Seriously. I was going for the sandwiches.
I'd like to thank you all for the fact I got through page eighteen of The Elegant Universe wondering if I should take notes for the weekend.
Also, does anyone have the song Cry, Little Sister, or whatever it's called from Lost Boys?