I'm on the phone with the one and only Connie Ray, star of stage and screen. She's in New York, I'm no longer in France. In the midst of our spiritually uplifting conversation, an auditory hallucination takes hold of my very tall friend:
"What's that sound?"
"What sound?"
"In the background. Do you have a pig in your house?"
"A pig?!"
"A pig."
"I have a dog."
"Well, your dog sounds like a pig."
"That is so not kosher, Connie."
"There it goes again."
"For @#$%'s sake! That's called barking."
"I grew up on a farm."
"What's your point?"
"That's not barking. That's squealing."
"I'm learning so much talking to you."
"Like what?"
"Like you can take the girl out of the farm, but you can't take the farm out of the girl."
"That's not how it goes."
"It does now."
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