Lonely Leslie

Saturday was a beach day. A beautiful beach day. My Mom and I were blissfully reading our books in the hot sun when the woman under the umbrella near us proposed question #1 out of 1,546. She wanted to know if we preferred spray lotion to cream. Fair enough. But this simple question & answer turned out to be nothing more than a thinly veiled segue way to learning all about her daughter moving to Raleigh, her psycho ex-boyfriend and the growing concern of where to find a Costco.

Even with my nose planted firmly in my book and a sudden feigned interest in the clump of seaweed at my feet, I remained a fixed target of her questioning. She wanted to know our family's story. And possibly if we had room and board. It may sound unsympathetic of me to speak this way of um, a stranger, but like I said, it was a BEAUTIFUL beach day. And this lady interfered. Over-shared. And talked about Pier One.

Again, weird shit happens to me. My Mom and I were sitting quietly. Books in hand. Minding our own biz. And still, she clung on. Like the seaweed to my foot.