I'm Bored with this Conversation

This is another case of different memories. My aunt tells a story of a luncheon where she's relaying an important story. She notices my mother's eyes wandering and calls her on it. My mother says, "You're boring me." In all fairness, my mother has a completely different recollection of this conversation.

The husband loves to tell me about his golf game, his golf swing, etc. I don't care. One year, he won a big tournament and wanted to brag. He put half of his winnings in my palm and said, "There, I just paid you to listen." These days, I try to defer it. I told him in March that he could have an entire evening in October to tell me about the season. Whenever he starts in with, "On the first hole ...," I respond with, "It's not October."

I'm guilty too. He doesn't care about the puppy walks or some trivial thing in my life. I keep talking and he zones me out.

The Unabomber tells the same stories over and over. The mother-in-law is rapt with her attention. It's kind of like watching political wives. When their husband gives a speech, they look at him like he is splitting the atom. I do not have this talent. I take my brain to Sheriland; I nod occasionally. I do not ask questions. This would prolong the conversation.

One of the quirkiest (and funniest) things about my mother is that when she's bored, she just hangs up. I call her back and say, "I was still talking." It's not subtle but I know that she is bored.