Can You Top That?

Why, yes, I believe I can!

What could be more fun than swapping scary eye stories in the waiting room?  Pick any other activity.  The SJG sat there in horror, wanting to scream, Too Much F'n Information, or as the texters call it, TMFI.   But I'm far too polite to scream at strangers, unless absolutely necessary, so I half-listened to Tales of the Retina I could have lived my entire life not knowing.  I didn't know you could have a mole in your eye.  I do now.  I did my best to convey empathy.  "It must suck to have a beauty mark no one but your eye doctor can see," I said.  I nodded my head in support,  but not too much.  Head movement is a no-no for me, at the mo'.  My orders are to keep my head up, which may explain why I'm wearing one black strappy sandal and one sensible white Reebok.  Meanwhile, all of this over-sharing raises some deep questions about life, in general:  Why do people always feel the need to top your story with their personal catastrophe?  Why can't they just nod their head in support, but not too much, lest they dislodge a retina?  If you have a car accident, God forbid, their car accident is worse.  If you have an operation, God forbid, their operation is worse.  If you lose someone near and dear, God forbid, their loss is worse.  Did the cavemen play "Can You Top That?" too?  As in, "You think it's bad to lose your beloved wife of four days to a hungry grizzly bear?  Well, boo-f'n-hoo.  Try losing all your poker buddies to a rowdy mob of hunter-gatherers." Oh, that does sound bad.  But I could probably top it, if I were so inclined.