My Office is a Lifetime Movie and then some

I swear I'm not really a callous bitch, except that I kind of am. At any rate, all my callous bitch tendencies are roused when faced with enforced chattering intimacy from people with whom I have nothing in common.

My supervisor is really a lovely woman. Really. But she loves to talk about her family and how she feels about her family and what they did yesterday and what they did thirty years ago and all the years in-between. Lord, it's not my family. I don't care.

One of my coworkers loves this. Eats it up. She chimes in with her own family tales and health issues. The conversation between the two sounds like a daytime soap opera written by Hallmark.

During these frequent dialogues, I hope I haven't looked too much like someone who was contemplating gnawing off their arm in boredom.

But, I make no guarantees.

I hate the constraint imposed on me by these situations. Either I conjure a sympathetic face during the hour or so where someone talks about their family, or I look like a callous bitch. Oy.