"Hardly," Patricia snorted. "I haven't even bothered applying yet, the Ministry cut their grants and - well - I mean, I've saved a lot of what I'll need now I suppose. But things are changing, so..." So what? She didn't really have any way to finish the sentence, or the thought. So it wouldn't be a good time to start focusing on a career? Pet sighed, shaking her head at herself. "So I'm not sure. Why on earth are you working at a Quidditch museum? What is it, just old balls and bats and brooms?" Everything Pet knew of Quidditch had been taught - and re-taught - by Alicia and Angelina's painstaking explanations of scoring and rules and tales of really superb games. "Al made me be a cheerleader for her this summer; it's this joke we've got, because they're this stupid Muggle thing - they wear ridiculously tiny outfits and scream and dance about and they've got -" yes, it was clear now that she was three-quarters the way through the telling that this was one of those inside jokes that wasn't actually funny at all, "pom poms."
Oh don't let him ask what pom poms are, you'll just sound even more of a rambling idiot, Stimpson. Patricia smiled sheepishly, picking at an unraveling hem of the tablecloth. Brilliant idea, starting with small talk.