Talking with the no-longer-significant other on the weekend, I was asked how the dinner during the preceding week with my mother went and, more importantly, whether my mother had inquired after K. Thinking back on the evening, I replied in the affirmative. “Oh, and does your mother miss me?” K asked. Um, well, I can’t remember them saying anything along those lines, good or bad.
“So, K? Do your folks miss me?”
K replies, “Oh, they were devastated.” And then laughs uproariously, unable to stop.
And to think of all those holidays I dragged my sorry (but, yeah, geometrically perfect) ass over there.