Sitting in a coffeeshop on a cloudy, 65-degree day. Dad and son (maybe three years old) walk in to meet up with Mom who’s sitting at the table next to me. Her first comment, uttered with mild frustration and disbelief: “You dressed him in shorts?!” The response, slightly sheepish, but mostly defiant: “Well I’m wearing shorts …”
Mike has been doing a bunch of great handyman-esque tasks around ou new home. Most recently, he hung up this beautiful blue, glass light fixture. Apparently he’s quite proud of the far away land from which it comes: The “Made in China” sticker faces out toward the eating area for all to see.
On my running route this morning, I abruptly ran into an unexpected yet highly distinct wall of smell that lasted for approximately 10 yards. After only a moment’s contemplation, I was able to pinpoint it as that of a herd of octogenarians decked out in their starched Sunday best shuffling toward the the center seats in the front pew 43 minutes before the pastor’s service begins.
Working from a coffee shop today making important calls to potential market research group participants. I’m trying to sound very professional on the phone. It’s tough to do when “Let’s Get It On” is playing in the background.
Apparently, changing your last name from “Holden” to “Soltys” means more than learning to write a different grouping of letters on my checks. It also means I go from bringing “snacks, dips and chips” to the annual church picnic (those with last names starting with A through H) to bringing a dessert (those with last names starting with Q through Z).
I’m excited to get married and all, but it’s a bummer that people now expect me to bake something to bring to the party.
Yup, Mike and I just became those people … the ones who find something that’s been sitting in their pantry (Mike’s in this case) for at least five years and bring it to the church picnic. Don’t worry, friends, it wasn’t perishable.