Any morning you wake up with “Me and You and a Dog Named Boo” playing over and over in your head, is one where you might as well get on with it, and get it over with. It ain’t gonna get any better. What is the deal with stinky, thieving hippies, I know, redundantly redundant, and now living rent free in my head after a several decade hiatus? Last time I heard that song, my voice was still going up and down.
I sit hunched over my coffee, perusing
Al Gore’s information super highway the internet, looking for something that will distract me from the 70’s rolling around in my mind. Now and then, I find myself pausing to muse at the ironies of life as portrayed on the world wide web. The Mrs has now joined me, hunched over her coffee, and it occurs to me that she was a real live hippy chic, back in the day. Coincidence? I pause, coffee cup to my lip a bit too long, jerking back from the heat, slopping some into my lap, as I consider the implications. Hippies.
A few tender sips later, I stumble upon this quote:
“When people get used to preferential treatment, equal treatment seems like discrimination.”
I glance up, and open the days dialog between husband and wife by reading that quote to her, pausing until her eyes meet mine and saying, “kinda like me getting my own beer, eh?” Quite often, when a man and woman have spent several decades together, you really don’t have to talk out loud to communicate. I went back to hunching over my coffee and wondering why women can be so touchy in the morning.