Who's my shmoopie?

Mom’s cubicle neighbor is whispering to his wife again. Sigh! He calls her at least five times a day; more, if one of the kids is sick.

Mom shamelessly eavesdrops on him.

It’s far more interesting to listen in than to deal with the paperwork on her desk. Ask her about that unfinished report that was due two days ago and she’ll give you a blank stare. Ask her what color her neighbor’s bedroom is, and she’ll tell you why they chose Shy Blossom by Glidden over Yarmouth Blue by Benjamin Moore.

The mood’s a little cloying today. He’s teasing his wife about something she did last night. For all you know, he might be referring to the way she yawned without covering her mouth or the little fart that escaped her, but mom’s imagination kicks into overdrive, and she imagines something else.

She leans closer to the partition wall, holding her breath, but the conversation has veered to their July 4 getaway to Vegas. No matter. He will call again later today and mom will lend ear.

It sure beats listening to the IT guy behind her talk about creating employee hash tables.