That lady came back to my work tonight and once again talked about the stuff that I never needed to know. She wasn’t as bad but why, seriously, why do you need to tell me about your vibrator? (Sorry mom, but they asked what it was about.) The other day she told me that she asked her doctor if she could still use it and tonight she told me she needed batteries for her hardware. Do I have a sign on my forehead that says “Please tell me all the gross details of your life”? No, I don’t. I don’t want to know that and don’t need any visuals in my head. Yuck. I’m now going to go drink a 2 Boulevard Wheats and try to forget this ever happened.