Art by Black Apple; frame from Hobby Lobby
...I am a sentence finisher. This has become a thing in my house. Okay, let's do a recent inventory. My almost-93-year-old father-in-law who can't hear anything (not great for conversing)-check; my husband who needs hours to tell a short story (well, so do I but that's because I tell so many details) because minutes go by painfully between word-check; my boomerang 25-year-old son who, although quite delightful, is not really chatty-check; then my 14-year-old son who is-well-a teenager-monosylabic-check. And me? I've always been a talker. And I hang out with other women of a certain age who often need help remember rarely used words such as "bread" and "parking space". It drives the guys crazy. Trying to interact with them drives me crazy. I told Matt (14) the other day that one of his friend's fathers is sooooo good looking. "Oh, Mom, you need a woman to talk to!". Ya think. Thankfully, most women I hang out with me know my situation so they patiently allow me to talk too much. Thanks girlfriends-you save me.
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