Bren, I’m laughing like a loon over here!
But this bit really cracked me up:
What do you do when your poochie falls? It’s no fun to walk around with your poochie sticking out!
Chickens with amnesia. <snort>
I have a hard and fast rule about leaving conferences if my poochie falls out. Too bad for you - we’ll just have to reschedule.
Regarding conversations in public places, it’s like people talking on cell phones in public - you can do it quietly and discreetly, or you can march around bellowing to anyone in earshot about how you’re about to get on the train, and you should be home in about 15 minutes, and should you stop and get bread on the way? The world is a crowded place - that’s why we should be trying to be more considerate, instead of less.
Cue the music: How much is that doggie in the window? The one with the waggly…. :eek: indeed. 
I view these situations as an invitation to oneupsmanship.
I’d lean over and say “3 quarts? Wow! But there was this one time in South America where a buddy of mine got a parasitic infection…” “…that’s right, four pounds of larvae! Can you believe that?”
If you want to do a search for it, use the phrase “prolapsed uterus”. Having a uterus that can fall out is one of the disadvantages of being female.
Just bring a book to read next time.
I always bring a book when I eat anywhere alone. Getting engrossed in a story does wonders for your tuning-out abilities.
I do not, however, recommend doing an image search for “prolapsed uterus”. Unless you’re into that sort of thing.
Who says I’m bothersome…???
Curiosity killed the poochie.
Actually, I was trying to imply you make my little button hot, if you get my drift.
mischievous
Must be a pretty unusual facility where you have to walk through the morgue to get to lunch. Most hospitals hide the morgue off the beaten track, behind locked and unlabeled doors.
It’s generally considered poor advertising to admit that you even need a morgue.
Well, it’s usually faster to take a short cut through the basement, which is where the morgue is located - occasionally there are bodies (in bags) outside of the doors waiting to be loaded into cars or ambulances or whatever.
Also, on the main floor, many times they have bodies (in bags) or body parts (not in bags) out for the medical students to practice anatomy - sometimes rooms have back to back bookings and bits and pieces have to wait in the hall until the room is no longer occupied.
Trust me, I now register almost NOTHING on my daily treck for lunch.
Don’t do that while I’m drinking tea!
Or that either.
That’s just what strikes me as so funny about the situation. “Um, folks, will you excuse me for a moment? My poochie just fell out.” If that had been my co-worker, I’d have had a real struggle to keep from laughing at her story. Of course, I was introduced to the concept of a prolapsed uterus when I was…I think I was about eleven, and someone gave us the James Herriot books for Christmas. Read them all in a week or so. There were cow poochies prolapsing all over the place in those books. And him up to his shoulder in cow poochie pulling out calves and such–after that I was pretty much immune to uterine gross-outs.
Oh, it gets better. I asked her why she was worried about her husband seeing her poochie, since I assumed he’d been involved in the baby’s conception. Her answer, in a shocked, indignant voice: “Well, but he didn’t have his face there!”
Everyone in the room cracked up.
Speaking of literary allusions to overhearing inappropriate conversations, there’s a bit in J.D. Salinger’s Seymour: An Introduction where S.'s brother is on a plane headed to his funeral, thinking melancholy thoughts. The women in the seat in front of him are having an intense conversation about the medical misadventures of some acquaintance of theirs: “…and then they drained X quarts of pus out of that beautiful body of hers.”
The brother is still thinking of that line when he gets off the plane, so when he is met by the grieving widow all decked out in Bergdorf Goodman black, he has the Wrong Expression on his face (he is grinning).
I got nothin’ to add, but she is a very funny woman! I will never look at the word “poochie” the same way again. If I see the Simpsons episode where Poochie guest-stars, I’ll be laughing hysterically!
I’ve read the James Herriott books too, but it’s a little bit different when a real person is telling you about her poochie being in the wrong place.
Pooooochie–here, Poochie, Poochie!
To send this thread on a tangent I’m going to ask a question I’ve had for awhile. What is so bad about hearing about medical issues, vomit, insects, and so on while eating? I can watch the medical channel while eating rare meat but many people can’t even hear the words “gaping maggot lined chest wound” while eating a cracker without blanching. I understand, in the abstract, the issue. We’ve agreed as a society on public vs private subjects. I’m not always great with keeping to them, but if reminded that other people might not want to hear about how my wart is healing nicely but the callous looks like a devil’s face I’ll pick a different topic for dinner conversation.
I don’t know if you’ve read a short story by Chuck Pahlaniuk called “Guts”. Someone linked me to it recently. I’m not going to post the link myself; do a search. Anyway, I read it all the way through, and when I’d finished, shook myself, and said, “Well, fortunately, neither of those things is physically possible.”
But it was still on my mind the next day, and when Mr. Rilch suggested lunch at Elby’s, I agreed, thinking, “I hope I don’t flash on that story while I’m eating.” Which is, of course, the pink elephant; if you have to remind yourself not to think about something, that will be all you can think about.
So we got there, we ordered, my burger arrived, I took the first bite…and had to spit it out. The story’s description was so vivid, I couldn’t stop myself from making the association. For ten horrible seconds, I thought I was going to have my first ever experience of vomiting for psychosomatic reasons.
So I told myself, “Girl, it is a hamburger. It is meat and pickles and some bread. You know that’s all it is. Just. Eat it.” And I did, all but the last bite.
So I think it’s a matter of letting your mind run away with you, or not. I chose not to. But boy, was that a close one. And meat the worst thing of all to deal with in these situations. But heck, as others have posted, doctors and nurses have to see and hear about gory things all the time, and they still manage to eat!
It is rather silly, isn’t it?
In fact, when Mrs. J. and I are out for our weekly Mexican dinner this Friday, I think I’ll discuss the latest in therapeutic myiasis.
Especially if someone at the next table is taking cellphone calls.
Now I am picturing Poochie from The Itchy & Scratchy & Poochie Show falling out of Bren_Cameron.
My worst offense: my friend David and I inadvertantly horrified a carload of NYC subway riders by nonchalantly discussing who was the cutest serial killer, Jeffrey Dahmer (David’s choice) or Ted Bundy (mine)?
Someone else’s worst offense: I was in a crowded elevator and one office girl said loudly to her friends, “Nah, I don’t wanna get pizza. Cheese makes me fart.”
Everyone in the elevator edged away from her . …