Husband and me: sitting quietly in a dimly lit room enjoying a reflexology massage at our local foot-massage spa in Brea.
You: bellowing nonstop to your therapist about every detail of your treatment.
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Everyone else in the spa: shushing you quietly, which you probably didn't hear because you were too busy describing at top volume how you came to have a scratch on your ankle.
Seriously, woman, why? There were "Quiet, Please" signs all over the place, the room was dark, we were all nestled in recliners with our eyes closed, and everyone—including your therapist—was trying to get you to zip it. I guess there isn't much of a difference between "foot" and "fool."