Small talkin ain't no small task.

My grandmother told me a story about "two ladies that were supposed to go to New York City to see a play - a show - and they couldn't because it was too snowy." My mom told me about how the Muppets put on a nice Christmas special. My aunt said my cousin is in algebra II already. She may even get to take a college level class before she graduates from high school. This is going to be an extra snowy winter. Snowier than most. Mitch Album. That's how they get you. Too much ice in the cups. Cheesey potatoes. Kohls. Specials. Poinsettias. Deals. Wrapping paper.

And then my sister comes home late tonight, she missed the family party because of work duties at the rehab hospital. She sits me down to tell me a story about a man, a very fat man, who she describes as "obeest", who always eats with his shirt off. He can barely speak and only grunts. He's four hundred pounds at least and he has a tiny meek wife that only speaks to ask for more Sprite. He might do other things with his shirt off but my sis is only around for the eating part and today he was eating oatmeal  and it was dribbling off his fat, slacky lower lip and falling onto his bare flabby chest and she tells me that she couldn't stop thinking "What if I had to lick that up," and that caused her to throw up a bit in front of the patient and even more in the bathroom.

I asked her, "why do you think something like that?"

"First thoughts, ya know?"