Paganistan: Notes from the Secret Commonwealth
In Which One Midwest Man-in-Black Confers, Converses & Otherwise Hob-Nobs with his Fellow Hob-Men (& -Women) Concerning the Sundry Ways of the Famed but Ill-Starred Tribe of Witches.
No, I Don't Want to See Your Pictures. No One Wants to See Your Pictures.
"So, what have you been doing lately?"
I haven't seen N in quite a while. Foolishly, I ask the expected question.
“Thank Goddess, I finally got the new bathroom finished,” she can't wait to say.
Woe upon me, she whips out her phone and, finger-jabbing, speaks the dreaded words.
“Want to see some pictures?”
The definition of a bore is someone who says the same thing to anyone. (Interesting people discuss topics of mutual interest.)
No N, I don't want to see your pictures.
No one wants to see your pictures.
Gods, clueless pagans.
She'll show me three pictures of the toilet—from different angles, of course—three of the sink (same), then the shower. Then, if I'm really lucky, maybe I'll get to see some close-ups of tiles and grout, too.
And that's just the beginning. She'll stand here, rapid-scrolling, with running verbal patter, for just as long as I'm fool enough to play the polite.
Sorry N, you're committing a major breach of hospitality here. I understand that you've worked very hard and are proud of the results.
Seriously, though: how could you possibly think that anyone else would be interested?
Boorishness, meet dishonesty.
“Sorry, forgot my glasses,” I demur.
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