Where is my watch?

My husband and I just got back from a trip to Philadelphia.  It was wonderful to see our McGlone family, to spend time with my mother-in-law, and to attend our niece's wedding.  My husband likes to drive straight through (that's 13 hours without stopping to eat, or rest, or use the "facilities").  He thinks that stopping for the night is a waste of time.  I think that we're retired, so what's the hurry?  Anyway, that's a story for another blog. We try to pack healthy snacks for our road trips.  This time, we took apples, nectarines, and red grapes.  I admit, though, that after hour ten in the car, I decided I needed to reward myself with a big, fat Whopper with extra pickles.  Most of the time, I behaved and dutifully ate the fruit.  The red grapes were in a red Tupperware bowl.  My husband and I were both mindlessly grabbing at them without glancing down.  When I did look down, I screamed, "The grapes are moving!!!  ACK!!!  There's a cockroach

Apparently I have become a compulsive talker.  I say things that would be better left unsaid.  I feel compelled to fill the silence.  About a year ago I was serving on a hiring committee.  One of the candidates had just left the room after giving a not quite stellar interview.  Nobody spoke; I guess we were all trying to find a way to say nicely what we were thinking: this was a terrible interview.  One of committee members looked at me and said, "Well, Victoria?"  I know I'm not the smartest person in the room, but I may be the one most likely to say something, anything.   My colleagues honored me with a retirement celebration a few months ago.  One of the recurring themes was my "contributions" to meetings.  I miss talking with my colleagues.  I miss holding meetings and speaking at events.   It wasn't always this way.  I was painfully shy as a child.  After my freshman year in a large Catholic high school, I begged my parents to let me attend the priv