I overheard someone giving her two cents about another woman's choices. Make that five bucks. She seems to have granted herself license to opine about the decisions that had absolutely no bearing on her own circumstances. You know, those particulars like how many children to bring into the world, when and whether to marry, how to keep your lawn, your budget for take out. 

 

When I am tempted to weigh in about the lives that intersect with my own, such as blood relatives, my mind wanders back in time. Did I ever consult my mother about such things? My grandmother? Granted my recall is slipping but I don't think I led my life by committee. 

 

Certainly John had veto power in major areas, but even he stayed clear of subjects like how I dressed or how much time I spent in front of a thrumming needle. I would like to profess a reciprocal arrangement but it is close to Christmas and Santa has spies. I mean elves. 

 

The embarrassing thing is, not an hour after my sweeping assessment about the other woman's comment, I found myself thinking the same way. I practically climbed on a Percheron as I mentally berated someone who was not within earshot, and has never consulted me about anything. 

 

Fortunately, I caught myself before such internal litigation escaped to the airways.