<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8" standalone="yes"?><rss version="2.0" xmlns:atom="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom"><channel><title>Difficult People on Sunday Evening Review</title><link>https://sundayeveningreview.com/tags/difficult-people/</link><description>Recent content in Difficult People on Sunday Evening Review</description><generator>Hugo</generator><language>en-us</language><lastBuildDate>Sat, 16 May 2026 06:00:00 -0500</lastBuildDate><atom:link href="https://sundayeveningreview.com/tags/difficult-people/index.xml" rel="self" type="application/rss+xml"/><item><title>Since You Asked: The Person Who Takes Up All the Room</title><link>https://sundayeveningreview.com/letters/since-you-asked-the-person-who-takes-up-all-the-room/</link><pubDate>Sat, 16 May 2026 06:00:00 -0500</pubDate><guid>https://sundayeveningreview.com/letters/since-you-asked-the-person-who-takes-up-all-the-room/</guid><description>&lt;p>&lt;strong>Dear Lorraine,&lt;/strong>&lt;/p>
&lt;p>My sister Patricia has been my best friend for sixty-two years. Or I thought she was. Over the last decade or so I&amp;rsquo;ve started to track something I can&amp;rsquo;t un-see: every conversation, within two minutes, turns back to her. Her neighbor. Her health. Her opinion about whatever is happening in the world.&lt;/p>
&lt;p>Last spring I called her to tell her my husband&amp;rsquo;s cardiologist had found something that needed a second opinion. She said &amp;ldquo;Oh, that&amp;rsquo;s scary&amp;rdquo; and then pivoted to a forty-minute account of her HOA dispute. I sat in my kitchen afterward feeling hollowed out. I hadn&amp;rsquo;t told her anything that mattered, and I didn&amp;rsquo;t know why.&lt;/p></description></item></channel></rss>