There is something about summer that makes me just want to rock out to cheesy music. Even more than usual. I don’t know what it is. It’s like the sun comes out and fries my brain and all of a sudden you find me driving around town blasting Lady by Styx or Poison by Bel Biv Divoe or Whatever U Like by Nicole Stingzinger. Or whatever her name is. You know what I mean.
Here is something exciting. I got home last night and there was a large, very official-looking envelope in my mail from Stanford University. Ooh la la, Brains R Us. You know what it was? A degree. A Pee Aitch Dee. Ooh la la again!
Ok, so it wasn’t mine. The name on the degree was Biology Girl, who had her degree sent to me because I am her in-case-of-emergency person (as Miranda Hobbs would say) or her “constant” (as Desmond Hume would say). When she moves or travels or what have you and she needs a permanent address to give out or whatever, that would be me. Which is awesome because then I get fancy, interesting mail with calligraphy instead of the nine thousand credit card offers that stuff my mailbox on a daily basis.
To celebrate her degree, we went out and had a fancy dinner. This was marred only by the fact that (a) Nordic Boy was tired from a long day at work followed by a long few hours after work ripping off our roof for replacement and so he was almost falling asleep into his Penne Sorrentina; and (b) I was tired and spaced out from a long day where I finished a big job assignment; and (c) Biology Girl was tired from a long day to the point where her ass was sore from writing a long paper that she has submitted for publication just under deadline. But other than that, it was a grand celebratory time.
So during dinner, Bio Girl suggested that we have some sort of ice cream or other such summery dessert after dinner. I thought that I expressed that this was a great idea, but apparently Nordic Boy and I were so tired that we gave a half-hearted response to the whole thing and she thought it was a no go. This was further complicated by the fact that (did I mention that I was tired?) no sooner had we walked out of the restaurant, I totally forgot about the dessert idea. I had a hazy understanding that we were about to go somewhere for something, but I couldn’t remember. In the twenty or so paces from the restaurant to the car, I forgot where I was going.
We got in the car.
Me: (driving) Now, wait. Where am I supposed to be going?
Nordic Boy: (silence, barely awake)
BioGirl: Um, I guess you’re taking me home?
Me: Oh. Ok.
See, she thought the ice cream idea had been shut down. So she went home. And I took her there, with a vague idea that maybe there was something I was forgetting.
I drove home, walked in the door, and then thought the following: “Man, you know what sounds so good to me right now? Ice crea– hey! Wait a minute!”
I texted BioGirl to ask her what the hell she let me forget about the ice cream for. She said she thought I didn’t want it. I told her I plum forgot. She was polite and didn’t tell me that I am clearly a senile old bat.
I got back in my car, went to the store, got us some ice cream, and went over to her place, degree from Stanford in hand.
The best part of the whole night? Was when we were munching on our ice cream, half watching “I Survived a Japanese Game Show.”
Her: Well…(munch munch)…you know…(totally unimpressed)…I’m officially done with school now.
Me: Yup (munch munch)…you have your papers to prove it and everything.
(pause, munch, munch)
Her: This ice cream is good. Lots of peanut butter cups in it.
Sometimes I think she and I are the Bartles and James guys. Without the wine coolers. Although perhaps we need to have the wine coolers, just to liven things up.