Apparently I enjoy talking about myself.
I "discovered" that yesterday at the doctor's office. Sinus stuff, blah, blah.
So the doc asks me what I do, specifically what's my job. It's been so long since anyone asked me that, so I go into so much unnecessary detail I suspect he regretted the question.
In hindsight.
Just before asking what I did, he asked if I smoked. No. Just before asking if I smoked, he said he heard a rattle in my lungs. And then came the question: what's your job?
Not a social moment. A House moment, as in Dr. House the medical detective with Asperger's on the former television show. Perhaps the rattle comes from exposure in the sweat shop that is my work environment. It doesn't.
What I do know is we will not be getting a coffee later and becoming BFF's.
Crap.
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