You know what makes you sound completely insane? Sharing the most intimate and tragic details of your life with someone that you met five minutes earlier on a temp job at Lincoln Center. I was working backstage a few nights ago at the concert hall, and this lady in a brown tweed pantsuit launched into the tragic death of her cat, Susan, and her mother (in that order) within the first few minutes of our fleeting acquaintance. She had that wispy, very sculpted hair (That's another issue: why do ladies develop such crisp hairdos? Are they inevitable past a certain point?) and very white skin that looked disturbingly moist; like if you touched it you'd make an indentation. When I put Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs down momentarily, she leaned over asked my opinion on a joint memorial prayer card for her mom and the cat. I told her it sounded personal and unique because I am a coward.
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