I asked my 17-year-old one innocent question, "Whose glasses are these?"
I pointed to the black-framed glasses laying on the counter.
"They're my fake glasses," he said.
"Why do you need fake glasses?" I asked. He has real glasses that look very similar, but he usually wears his contacts.
"It was poker night," he said.
Was that supposed to make sense?
"That's why I shaved my beard and left my mustache last night. Then I wore the glasses for poker night."
I looked at his clean-shaven face. I'm not sure if the answers provided any more clarity.
Was it some sort of 70s poker night where they dressed in short-sleeved plaid shirts with pocket protectors, thick mustaches and glasses? Some sort of Will Farrell parody?
I'll never know.
"Did you win?" I asked.
"Oh, no. I lost bad," he said.
"Did you play for money?" I asked, suddenly worried.
"Nah, it was a dollar maximum. We played with chips."
And that was the night of a 17-year-old when his high school football team is not doing so well
On many mornings, my husband walks the half mile to town and meets with a friend for coffee. It's a nice, retired guy activity. And I a...
So on Wednesday, I said goodbye to my stoic sons who loom over me, bending down to hug me, but those of you who have read my blog regularly ...
Our friend Najah had to fly back to Ohio on Wednesday. Her flight left Paris at noon, so we decided that at 6:30 a.m. train that reached the...
What happens if you plan your life around a dream and then it doesn't live up to the expectations? Well, I've had a rough start...