Ho hum, a lazy day off.

Get up late. Blog. Drink orange juice. Blog some more. Shower, put clothes on, run errands. Stop for something to eat and read the Globe.

At this point, in terms of inadvertently (and unavoidably) overheard conversations, things took a turn for the explicit.

Four young women, about 20 to 21 years old by my guesstimate, were sitting about 30 feet away. There were about six other occupied tables around them.

From topics like friendship and favourite teachers, the conversation eventually moved (and loudly) into penis size and terminology.

The topics ranged from length ("it's really bad when it hits your cervix"; "Oh yeah," chimmed in another, with a grimace. "Jab, jab. Jab.") to absence thereof combined with a lack of rigidity at the moment of truth ("Oh, that's okay, little fella!" -- which had the table screaming with laughter).

They also found it funny when one said she had a Brit boyfriend, and she called his private member a "dink." "'It's naugh'a dink!'" she yelled, doing her best imitation of a drunken, outraged, loud, young Brit.

Personally, I always thought that was more bar talk kinda stuff, but perhaps social mores are changing.

Friday bonus: Here's the Frankalized version.