I went to Chris's house today. We had dinner with his family. His father has a cold. It's hilarious.
Mr. W: The thing about [redacted] is that he didn't travel well.
Mrs. W: That makes him sound like pottery shaking around in its box.
Mr. W: Well yes, and then when he got here he stopped shaking around so much. [redacted], on the other hand, was always just fine.
Mrs. W: Well you know why? He had packing peanuts! The other one just had bubble wrap!
Me: Of course!
At this point in the conversation, Mrs W and I were cracking up and Chris and Mr. W were staring at each other completely bewildered.
Mr. W: I'm an artist.
Mrs. W: Have you seen one of your drawings?
Mr. W: No, I think I... I transcend that kind of thing.
Me: I had a headache like that one time.
I always get a little artsy and metaphysical when I have headaches. That, or bitchy and unpleasant. Or all of the above.
Me: Desmond Tutu spoke at my sister's graduation. She went to University of Pennsylvania.
Mr. W: ... isn't that where the ferret is or something?
... later...
Mr. W: Nah, I really like Desmond Tutu. He's my main man.
Clara
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