Buncha little ol' biddies, is what.When XY was little, I had to take him grocery shopping with me. A couple of times, I was hungry and we dropped in at HyVee’s little restaurant. While I was wrangling him, I noticed a large group of old men sitting around shootin’ the breeze.

I eavesdropped on them, because of course I did, and here are some snippets:

  • I tell him anybody’s goin’ to hell for money like that (re preacher making 120k/year)
  • “How do you afford stuff like that?” He said, “I deserved it.”
  • Church is nonprofit so they don’t have to pay taxes.

Now, what you all probably know is that men never gossip. They shoot the breeze. Between that and memories of my grandfather and father standing around with their buddies gossiping shootin’ the breeze in languid tones, and the little café my FIL frequented when he lived in a small Missouri town, it occurred to me that this was the internet before there was internet. Social media, if you will.

“I gotta go home and get my perq.”

“You gonna make her make you a sammich?”

“I know better than that.”

“All these years you ain’t got her trained?”

“I don’t think any of us have ours trained.”

“I told my wife to make me a sammich. She got up and did it. She was on her way out the door and said, ‘You may not want to eat that.’”