We didn’t have much of anything to fix for dinner, so George said he’d go to the store. I scanned the contents of the fridge to see what we needed, and he wrote the list. When I glanced at it, I noticed he’d printed with much larger, rounder letters than usual. “Why are you writing like that?”
“It’s my junior high writing.”
“Your junior high writing?”
“Yeah. Junior high girls write that way.”
I stared at him for a few moments, giving him an opportunity to anticipate my next remark. A creeping sheepish grin said you really don’t have to but I really did have to. “And you’re a junior high girl?”
He laughed but then drew himself up to full height. “Do I look like a junior high girl?”
Suddenly I really didn’t have to answer any more. I’ll let him figure that one out. Meanwhile I think I’ll buy him one of those sparkly pens with, like, pink feathers on the end. Totally.