Tuesday morning, prominent local eye clinic. Bleach-blonde receptionists and bureaucrats with tasteful pieces of flair, eyelash extensions and dramatic eyebrows click-clack through the hallways. I've been sitting in a waiting room for over an hour with my aged relative, who is not only a little sight challenged at the moment, but also a little bit (a lot) deaf. For some reason, this clinic plays nature films on smallish ceiling-mounted TVs, the volume turned down low, in a kind of blissful refutation of the challenges faces by at least 80% of the clientele.
Ask me anything about flying squirrels.
Click-clack, goes the buxom blonde in the close-fitting black suit. Click-clack across the waiting room floor. And then back.
Zoom! Flying squirrels!
Scuttle, go the Galapagos lizards.
Whomp, go the birds that cannot land.
Click-clack. There goes the blonde again.
Click-clack, again, but this time from the beaks of beautifully odd birds with blue feet.
You see where this is going, don't you? You do.
Which is why, as the robust blond in the close-fitting black suit click-clacked past me and my father, I found myself shouting to the lovely deaf man: BOOBIES! THEY'RE BOOBIES!