A saga worthy of the Forsytes

When will this be over? I MUST have something better to talk about than my neck.

Nope, not today.

I officially have whiplash. When you have whiplash (and are 36 years old) they do not give you a lollipop for being a good girl during the exam.

They give you muscle relaxants!

Whoopee!

OK, in reality they don't make me feel anything but tired and kind of dopey but that's OK, at least now I have an excuse.

Hey, I do have a funny story to tell after all.

I'm on the subway. It's morning. I've got the Pod cranked up and I'm reading the latest Harry Potter. I'm so trendy my jeans are practically sinking down to show my butt crack. I'm pretty much noticing nothing until I hear, "Mind your own business! Just mind your own DAMN business!"

And once you've heard the start of a...conversation you can't block it out anymore.

Apparently some white, overly shouldered broker type has taken offense to the musical stylings of a youngish black man with a boombox cradled lovingly in his arms. They argue.

Broker Boy thinks that Music Lover should turn down the music.

Music Lover thinks that Broker Boy should mind his own damn business.

Broker Boy, and incidentally a squeaky voiced young lady who piped up later, think that since the music is offending their tender ear drums that it is in fact their business.

It was all pretty run of the mill. I really just wanted them to shut the hell up, and was on the verge of screaming that at the top of my lungs until someone else did it for me. However, there came a turn in the events that made it into a blog entry.

Music Lover: "You wouldn't be all up in my grill if I was playin' some Burt Bacharach or some shit like that. You'd LIKE that!"