Arrived back into the U.S. late yesterday. Caught a cold last couple of days. Heading to Phoenix tomorrow morning. Into my home office, stack of mail, most notable, an open envelope from OUT Magazine with a special offer to subscribe. It’s the only mail that’s been opened. Ooops.
My wife is standing over me. “So did you request this?”. No. “Well.” No. “Do you realize how embarassing it is to receive this in the mail?” No. “What if the kids saw this?”. OK. Am I supposed to be monitoring the mail now. I do wonder how they got my address. I’ve never provided my address to them. Is this some morbid joke by someone I know or knew?
This morning, we’re out of Splenda for coffee. No big deal. She’s looking in kitchen and commenting how she hopes my boy toy will remember his daily shopping list. Then out comes how she is keenly aware of my leanings toward the exotic brown flavors and that she hopes my Benito, Dabhiti, Paitoon or Ramazan will serve me well in the future.
The good news, the special offer for OUT was only $7.50 a year. I need to find a stamp.