Driving like a grandma in the passing lane is akin to standing in the entrance of the grocery store and catching up with a long lost friend.
Face that way. On your knees. BANG!
Vote 'flave.
Or telling the cashier all about little Jimmy going off to college and how your uterus fell out long after she handed you the receipt.
Stores ought to hire some poor disabled kids to go stand in the corners and and let old people talk to them.
