Shortly after takeoff on the second leg of our arduous trek home yesterday, I overheard an old couple. Apropos of nothing I could discern, the old man suddenly asked, "What was the name of that ol' RCA Victor dog?"
The old lady mumbled something in reply. Not an answer.
Still clearly distracted by the subject, the old man then asked, "What breed of dog was he?"
"He was white with dark spots,'" the old lady replied.
"I didn't ask what he looked like," the old man snarled.
From that point, they exchanged not a single word for the entire flight. But the old lady proceeded to hack up her lungs on the back of my head for three solid hours.
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