​sitting at my neurologist office, 

Old lady busybody complains about everything

She smells someone’s lunch, it stinks

She doesn’t like the smell of the baby that someone brought, 

She doesn’t like to wait

She shouldn’t have to wait

She says she is waiting because she is the only one with insurance, damn poor people clogging up the doctor’s office

She doesn’t like my tattoos, I must be a Satanist or a druggie or an excon

Finally she is called to the back, her husband stays and let’s out a sigh, he is playing on his phone, oh wait it is her son. Poor guy. 

If she could be recorded and have her just above a whisper whinning and gave that played before Sunday service starts, would she change or simply find another Church