So, mathematics.
And hair care, yes.
Not a fan, really. Of the mathematics, that is. Numbers are just so finite. There's no wiggle room. No romance. Just doggone reality.
Words are a lot more fun. I can be happy or delighted or exhilarated or even exonerated, hopefully.
Note: What was I talking about? Oh yes. Numbers. And hair care.
So, I am telling The Hub about my upcoming High School Reunion. I am planning my hair highlighting schedule to coincide with the date, of course, and I must be speaking out loud about such plans because The Hub is nodding, somewhat numbly, I believe.
But Wait! The Hub speaks!
Note: He is listening after all!
What reunion is it? he is asking.
The question is puzzling. It's the reunion of my High School graduating class I say and although I am thinking duh I do not say it.
No, no, he is saying, I mean how many years? Like 10? Or 15?
Are you kidding me? This is the man that deals with million dollar budgets on a daily basis. He can whip out a spreadsheet faster than I can recite the pledge of allegiance in Spanish, which I can still do, yes, thanks to my High School Spanish teacher who taught me to do so, but not just ten or fifteen years ago, no.
Really? I say. We have been married 28 years. We have a 27 year-old son. Fifteen years? Really?
Oh, it must be your twentieth, he says.
Further proof, yes, that although his head may be bobbing and his lips may be hmmning, he is so not paying attention.
Well, then. Happy Twentieth High School Reunion to me!
Heck, yes!
1 comment:
i love that i often catch the end of some of your stories while fumbling in late to pilates only to get the full story once i check your blog. :)
btw mike is such a tease he'd respond like this even if he was listening and completely understood my babbling to myself off to the side of the room.
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