The Death of Boundaries

I am sitting in Starbucks. Right this minute. (Iced soy chai, if you must know).

There is a woman sitting about 10 feet from me who has been on the phone for about an hour. It is difficult not to overhear, but I'm doing my best. I've avoided nearly all content.

But one thing is clear.

This is a therapist of some sort. Trust me.

And she is talking to a client about a very personal matter.

In Starbucks.

This is not what cell phones, pink or otherwise, are for.

Poor Patricia.