"I love my front load washing machine"

This weekend the weather was beautiful, a nice cool breeze, less humidity than typical, and temperatures in the low 80's, if you live in Florida this is almost as close to ideal as it gets.

On Sunday I went to Starbucks to sit outside and read. This lady sitting nearby had all these little dogs with her one of which was a Yorkie. My wife and I have a Yorkie, however we didn't talk to this lady, we were relaxing and had no desire in the same why I don't think it is a coincidence when I meet someone else named Jeff, they are a lot of Jeffs and a lot of people with Yorkies.

Eventually this girl in her early 20's shows up and on her way in to get coffee starts immediately oozing over the, "itsy bitsy cutest little" blah blah blah. They go on for over an hour talking about their dogs. The girl has forgotten her coffee, it is all dog talk now. The 20 something says, she has a Yorkie which only makes things worse. They discuss how they are trying to breed their dogs (a weird topic, only because you wouldn't discuss breeding your child yet they talk about them like human children), dog ailments, dog tendencies, dog humor, vets, dog treats and every other nauseating bit of minutiae. The girl mentioned she once missed school for two weeks because she was so concerned about her dog. The two became so involved talking about their dogs I thought they were going to move in together. After being distracted for an hour I realized I hate dog people.


Then yesterday I realized I don't hate dog people, what I hate is overly maternal women. I had the misfortune of listening to a young woman discuss the joy of having a really nice washing machine with another young woman. I felt like I had food poisoning. She went on about it with another woman for way too long. They went on to discuss the wonderful world of tv dinners and the pleasures of shopping for clothes hangers. These were young women, though if you only listened in it sounded like the dialogue of soccer moms yet these women were half the age of a soccer mom. It was like Martha Stewart killed the fun in their DNA and replaced it with the urge to scrapbook.

I'm sorry this is just how I feel, I just had to get this out.

So please next time you want to talk about breeding your dog with a stranger or the joy of drape shopping, please look deep inside and ask yourself, "am I this old?"