Mike and I are comuticating...
That’s a real word, because I said so and also because I am
at a loss to, in any other way, label the 23 minutes Mike and I spend together
in the vehicle each morning.
Driving to work together is a new experience for us. (Imagine
that, after almost 30 years together we’re still ‘keep’n it fresh’) It is a
pretty economical decision and also not much of a choice as we are a one car
family. I knew when we launched this effort a few months ago that our 23 minutes
would become a daily mini married speed date. We can cram a lot of conversation
into that short time, (time has been a great teacher). I knew we would tackle
issues of family importance; budget meetings, scheduling, disciplinary hearings
(sorry kids, family democracy isn’t really a democracy). I knew we would
discuss vacation planning and errands, family squabbles and home repairs. I was
prepared for it all.
I failed however to remember that I was driving with Mike; the
man behind the Mickey Rourke incident. This morning I'm fairly confident that I left a
few brain cells out on the highway.
Don’t ask me how it happened but we left the driveway
talking about the night’s schedule for hockey and practices; we gravitated
naturally to the radio hosts bantering about a recent survey of 1500 adults and
their sexual history. That conversation morphed into a commitment discussion
which led eventually, at the end of a long convoluted journey, to some random
debate on whether in fact whales actually poop or not AND if they do... would said
poop be slippery or frozen if it found itself mysteriously on an iceberg. I don’t
even know how we got there. Two left lane passes, an off-ramp and a
road-rageous comment and we were there. That’s all I know.
Luckily, the conversation went into the ‘blocked from memory’
vault and I managed through my work day to focus on death, investments and
premiums.
Then I came home, opened my email and there was this…..
Then I came home, opened my email and there was this…..
‘new message from: Mike
Subject: whale poop’
