Conversation killer

On the flight to Houston, I was seated two seats over from a very strange, inebriated young woman. She struck up a conversation with the guy between us, soliciting information from him, sharing truisms observed during her (almost) twenty-two trips around the sun, and volunteering a a lot of personal information to everyone within earshot.My nuisance filters were already buckling from the constant background radiation, but when she told Derek:

I’m going to Houston for plastic surgery. Hey, feel this.

I had to look … at her nose. I went back to my puzzle book before she whipped out her phone to share her before and after photos. It was divine providence when the seat belt light binged. I was out of my seat and headed towards the back of the plane to use the toilet.I returned back to my seat just before the flight attendants had begun beverage service. Tammy had persuaded Derek to accept her $20 and use his credit card to purchase her Bacardi and Sprite. When she produced ID, he demurred, but refused the money as he didn’t have $14 change.The drink escalated her talkativeness and touchiness. Poor Derek was trying his best to be a polite, happily-married captive, deflecting her obvious attempts to pick him up.Perhaps it was the beer running its course, or Derek needed a break, but he excused himself to go to the restroom. Tammy started talking to me.

Tammy: What are you reading?Passenger in 17D: Tammy: [! !]

Conversation. Over.While I learned the basics of craps, she continued pestering Derek… until the alcohol absorption rate caught up with her and she fell asleep.