Classic Conversation

I know I have been quiet this summer, but I have been taking time for other things... gallavanting around my fabulous little town with step-daughters or traveling, for starters. But this has given me much opportunity to note amusing conversation, both public and private.


The conversation here is with my ten year old, who is visiting her father right now. He obviously does not have the same rules I do about movie ratings and what is appropriate, but this is still funny:

“Are you getting ready for bed, sweetheart?”

“Well, I already took a shower so we are going to watch the rest of a movie.”

“Oh, that’s nice. Which one?”

“Batman. The Dark Knight. There is a lot of killing in it and my favorite character got blown up already.”


In a museum gift shop, this conversation took place between two significantly aged women—women with grey hair, osteoporosis, and canes:

“I studied art with him once and he pinched my fanny!”

“Well, I studied art with him, too, and not only did he pinch my fanny, but he felt me up!”

(When I heard this, I had to walk away before I could hear any more. I thought I was going to die.)


At a restaurant, said by a grandmother to her grandchild:

“Honey, really! Are you sure you’re ok? You won’t stop moving!”

(All right, maybe you had to be there for that one.)


In Target, I overheard a woman on her cell phone:

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I was a prisoner, and now I feel like a criminal!”


From a young lady this summer (if you are reading this, sweetheart, remember I love you):

“I completely wasted my good make-up and get-a-man outfit on that party.”


Something I said yesterday to my youngest step-daughter when she asked if I had ever driven through Pasadena. I wasn’t thinking—or maybe El Paso was stuck in my head:

“I drove all the way across Texas, twice, but I don’t remember Pasadena.”

“California!” she corrected. Of course, she had to stop laughing at me first.


Another cellphone conversation:

"He lives in the ghetto, the real ghetto."

(As opposed to the fake one?)


Told to me by my little four year old son, after a visit with his dad:

"Is not nice to say dammit, shut up, or stupen (stupid). Or shut your mouf. Or shit."

"I'm glad we've got that covered," I said.

I figured it was at least nice that someone had explained this to the little guy.