So much to say
“What’re you listening to, honey?” my wife asked me.
“Oh nothing,” I said as I tried to hide my iPod.
She grabbed it from me. This was not going to be pretty.
“Well well! What do we have here?” she asked. “Oh, Lee. Is this the new Dave Matthews and Tim Reynolds album, Live In Las Vegas? Ha! Are you and your frat boy buddies going to sneak some Miller Lite in the parking lot before the show and try to pick up some drunk high school chicks?”
“Ok, you got me,” I said. “It’s actually good music, but whatever. Happy?”
“I am, actually.”
Our five-year-old son walked in.
“What’re you guys talking about?”
“Your mother was telling me that I’m a huge frat boy, but what she doesn’t know is that I secretly videotaped her dancing along to a Justin Beiber video she was watching on Youtube. And then the camera caught her buying his album with the credit card she has that she thinks I don’t know about.”
“Oh, Mommy! That reminds me! My friends said you can’t come with them to the Beiber concert because you’re too old.”
My wife didn’t know what to say.
“I volunteered to chaperone,” she sputtered.
“Oh, and my friend Gabby said she’s forwarded all the pictures she has of him to you like you asked, but that Tiger Beat this month has some new ones if you want more. She also said you’re being creepy.”
My wife ran out of the room.
“Where are you gooooiiiiiiiiinnnngggggggg?” I sang.
