On Friday afternoon I’m killing time in town until 6 o’clock, when I’m to pick up Emil. I’ve been to the credit union, the library, the post office, the grocery store, and I have another hour to wait around. The store where Everett works keeps different hours than it used to, and I think it closes at 5:00 now. I text him that I’ll give him a ride home, then go park on the street across from the store.
At 5 after 5 I see him come out the front door and I wave. He waves back and gets into a truck, moves it from one place to another, then comes over to the car window.
“What are you doing here?” he asks, pleasantly, clearly unaware of my text.
“I thought I’d give you a ride home.”
“I don’t get off till six.”
“Oh! Shit! I thought you get off at five! How did I get that so wrong?”
“You’re old?” he says.
Damn kids.
stubblejumperscafe.wordpress.com 
I pre-empt that sort of comment by being to quick to point out to my kids that I’m old.
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At least his response was a question! Not remembering schedules or the details of other people’s obligations is one of my specialties, it is an extravagance, a self-indulgence, a reward for having raised two kids on my own who were eight years apart in age, and had completely different interests and schedules, which I had to juggle with my own career. No more! I am sliding into the home plate and the ball is out in left field.
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values before vanity…I’m working on that
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