I was listening to a co-worker chit-chat with a client about his wife's family. He was cheerily talking about the family's mishaps.
I could tell by the look on the client's face that I should intervene.
"He means it literally."
"Oh," said the client, visibly relieved that no one had actually died. And more so relieved that my co-worker wouldn't so glibly, flippantly mention a family member's death.
This was when I was living in Virginia, where I actually met quite a few people who had made a purchase of land on which they intended to raise crops. But no, they were not dead. They had actually bought a farm.
So I do laugh every time I hear the beginning of this Gillian Welch song:
Becky Johnson bought the farm
Put a needle in her arm
That's the way that it goes
That's the way
I laugh, thinking about my co-worker, cheerily saying something so morbid. And then I feel bad, because Gillian isn't being literal. Poor Becky Johnson.
Hear the song on Youtube.
