Make no mistake, everyone. You read that title right. Delilah. I didn’t mean Shellie (Shelilah). Although Shellie does need to shut up. I mean, just look at her face.
God, just shut up already.
Anyway, this is the story of a horrible radio talk show. And a horrible radio talk show host. Delilah.
She’s got one of those would-be soothing voices if she didn’t make your cheeks clench just by saying the word "hello." She comes on at exactly 7:00pm every night. I know it is exactly 7:00 pm because she likes to interrupt the only time they play decent music with her annoying theme song that consists solely of her name being sung with chimes by a very effeminate man from 1983.
The point of her show is to fill the airwaves with sappy stories and reminders to eat at Olive Garden and drink Earl Grey that otherwise would be filled with decent radio.
One of her favorite pastimes, especially during the holidays, is to take callers who have a really loving or tragic story to share with the city. Now, this is okay. I mean, it’s not exactly my cup of ginseng-infused herbal tea, but I respect these people and their experiences. But Delilah. . . She. . .ahem. . .
These poor people are bearing their souls to this woman. I mean, come on!
And this is why every time her stupid yoga-voice comes on el radio, Shellie and I have the same reaction:
If only she would listen.
