There is this lady in my office that insists on communicating her immediate thoughts to me every time she passes my desk (frequently).  From talking in baby-talk about her grandkids, about the fact that her kid in Calgary has the flu, to telling me how hungry she is (“I starvin’, marvin”) to showing me her skin cracks because of the dryness. 

Why do I need to know this?  do I care?  does this make me a bitch?  probably.  I just want her to pass my desk without talking like Daffy Duck.