Archie came home from work last night and I said, "You didn't tell me you had an off-site or some kind of rah-rah rally today." He looked a tad confused, but I soldiered on. "How was the Gladwell talk?"
"The what?" Now he looked really and truly confused.
"Gladwell. Malcolm Gladwell." Why was he not understanding me? Maybe I'm having a stroke and "Malcolm Gladwell" is coming out "green beans and puppies are terrifying" or maybe "arghgh blerg potatoes" or something else nonsensical. "You sent me some text messages this afternoon and seemed very excited about hearing him speak. In person. We agreed you'd talk about it tonight."
He grabbed his iPhone and scrolled through some texts and said, "Ah, here we go. That was Susan -- she sent me a message about a talk, but then she realized she'd sent it to me by mistake. She wanted to tell you."
I got my iPhone and looked at the text messages and had a V-8 moment, complete with smacking my forehead. "In my defense, no one but you ever texts me!"
So now I have to email my friend and explain that I am a moron and I thought she was my husband and I'm really sorry I kind of blew her off by writing, "We'll talk all about it when you get home." Hello -- she doesn't live at my house or even in my state.
I really shouldn't be participating in an activity that is so linked to teenagers, I don't think. Not at my age. I might sprain something in my brain.
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