March 30th —  Brad and I are sitting in the airport this morning waiting for a flight to Florida.  Just the two of us.  Our kids are at home with his mother while I tag along on his four-day business trip to Heaven.  We’re zoning out, basking in some hard-earned silence and Brad turns to me. “What are you thinking?” 

 

“Do you really want to know?”  I ask.

 

“Sure,” he replied, thinking, I’m sure – how bad could it be?

 

“I’m looking at that guy’s loafers thinking they would look good on you, but knowing they’re probably too funky for your taste. I’m looking at that family of seven and listening to the dad who talks too loud because he thinks we should all marvel that he is managing five kids so well in an airport. I’m thinking it’s not my fault he has five kids so don’t look at me for some award or something. I’m looking at the guy listening to his IPod thinking I should really download some more music onto mine and finally figure out how to use the darn thing.  I’m looking at that heavy woman over there wondering if she’s going to need a seat belt extender on this flight. I’m looking at that woman in her  lavender wind suit and gobs of jewelry and thinking how could she thing that is possibly a good look.  I’m looking at what that woman’s reading because I’m ready for a new book and I wonder if that’s a good one.  I’m trying to remember if I put that last load of clothes in the dryer or if they’re mildewing to high heaven. I’m thinking about going to the bathroom before we board. I’m watching that six-year-old guzzle a full-leaded, caffienated Coke and hoping to Betsy that he doesn’t sit near us.  And I’m wondering if I remembered to pack my hot rollers.  Want me to keep going?”

 

“No.”

 

I didn’t think so, I thought.

 

Brad followed up with “Does your brain always do that?” 

 

“Of course, doesn’t everyone’s?” I replied.

 

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