I am a creature of habit. Every day I leave my house at 8:04 a.m., walk to the deli, get a cup of tea and the Daily News, and proceed to the train station. The train comes at 8:16. I find a seat, read the paper, drink my tea, and try to map out my first couple of posts for this site.

For some reason today the train was more crowded than usual. I had to sit in one of the so-called stare seats, meaning I left myself open to sitting not only directly next to another passenger but also across from one. Two stops after mine, a couple of women about 50, wearing black pantsuits and sneakers, carrying alligator-leather handbags oversized near the point of absurdity, got on and sat down.

One sat in the seat across from me and one in the seat next to me, making it impossible for me to avoid their conversation or concentrate on anything else — namely thinking about what to write for this site.

These are some of the topics they discussed:

– Their mutual friend Connie, who has a great body for a woman her age because she is extremely wealthy and has the time and resources to work out constantly, and how, despite her flat stomach and toned arms, her face is irrevocably busted — the type of thing no personal trainer can ever repair.

– The son of the woman sitting next to me, a 25-year-old loser who still lives at home and will never find a woman to marry him.

– How every husband cheats on his wife.

– The price of handbags at Nieman Marcus and Saks Fifth Avenue.

– The ex-husband of the woman sitting across from me, who is remiss in paying some of the expenses of their children, in part because of the medical expenses he is accruing due to a brain tumor.

– The price of cocktail and formal dresses.

– How they hoped to be retired by now, and how the market picked an inconvenient time to tank.

– The price of apartments in Trump Tower White Plains, which don’t even come with a deck.

– The price of an apartment for the loser son, and whether that would cast him out of or deeper into loserdom.

There was more but I think I blocked it. Yes, I’m a judgmental jerk. And maybe I’ve had a dozen audible chats that have made me sound far worse. But if it weren’t for a few kind words about the smart daughter of the woman sitting across from me, this might have been the worst conversation of all time. Mostly because it distracted me. Should’ve put my headphones in and bagged the whole thinking plan, I guess.