This evening, when I proudly informed The Bean that I had updated my blog not once but twice since he last read it, he dutifully sat down and started to catch up.
I twittered about in the kitchen, trying (and failing) to pretend that I wasn’t watching him out of the corner of my eye, gauging his reactions and trying to guess which part he was reading. He’s a tough crowd— rarely do I get an audible laugh out of him. He generally reads through an entire post without twitching even once, pausing only to say, “That was very funny. Good job,” in an unconvincing monotone before going back to whatever else he was doing. He’s not one to engage in fake flattery, so I know he’s not lying, but still…. Sometimes I’d like to see a little more this:
and a little less of this:
Occasionally, I will get a snort or a small chortle, and I know I’ve struck gold.
That is, until tonight, when he read this bit from my previous post:
“Don’t even get me started on that diaper bag— I think if I searched really hard, I might actually find a diaper in it. I think I can also find a collection of spoons, an old crayon, an old baby shoe, several toys that he never actually plays with, a couple of spare outfits, the catalytic converter to a ’53 Mustang, a crusty bib…”
I’ll spare you all the sordid details of how his laughter bellowed through the house.
Apparently Ford didn’t start making Mustangs until 1964.
And catalytic converters weren’t even used in cars until 1975.
To quote the Bean: “Swing and a MISS!”
