Over the weekend, while visiting her grandparents in MI, Evie was looking all over the house for something. “What are you looking for?” we asked her. “My privacy,” she said. She took my hand and led me all over the house looking for it (nevermind the irony of taking someone with her to look for her privacy). When we got upstairs she started singing, “Oh where, oh where has my privacy gone?” Finally, she came back downstairs. Someone asked her, “Where is your privacy?” and she said, “I left it at home.”

Overheard at a small town restaurant, Anytown Middle America, a wonderful “how we met” story:

“No, when we first started dating, we didn’t eat much. All we did was drink.”
“That’s how we got pregnant.”

And if that lovely story wasn’t enough to melt your heart, the couple they were with had their own touching story:

“We met in high school. I was a jock, she was a cheerleader, typical story. And when we she first walked by, I told everyone on the basketball team, “I’m going to hit that.”

But the fun with overheard conversations didn’t stop there. Walking around at Festival, I saw two homeless guys walking around. As we passed by them, one of them made this reassuring comment to the other:

“I don’t buy crack.”

Not clear if he was saying he doesn’t do crack at all, or just that he doesn’t pay money for the crack that he does.

And just to be clear, no one in the above stories should be considered “babes” anywhere other than the categorizing of this entry.