This post is part of my 2022 Word Project. You can read what that’s about here.
Thursday, May 11, 2023
6:30 pm
I want to tell you a story. It’s a short story. A very logical story. A bedtime story perhaps.
I told a story about stories just a few days ago. A story about the bedtime stories my grandparents told me as a kid. Everyone understands bedtime stories, but why aren’t there any waking up stories? Why are stories meant to put you to sleep but not to welcome you to a new day?
This is that story. It will put a smile on your face so you can start the day right.
My brother Brian, whom you may remember from my post about brothers, is a highly logical person. Practical. Sensible.
He spawned a son just like him.
My nephew Andrew is rather astute and I could regale you all day with tales of his brilliance in the digital version of a billfold of photos pulled out of my wallet.
He’s 9 now, but when he was younger he enjoyed jumping on the bed and couch, because who doesn’t? One day as he was bouncing up and down on the couch in the living room, his father said, “Andrew, stop jumping on the furniture.” Calmly.
Andrew continued his gymnastics.
His father spoke more firmly. “Andrew! STOP jumping on the furniture.”
Offended and hurt, Andrew replied, “I’m not jumping on the furniture. I’m jumping on the COUCH.”
I mean, logic.
I have a whole billfold of those in my wallet.
But what I want to tell you about is the story Brian shared with me a few days ago.
Andrew is a picky eater. I mean, let’s face it, he eats like a kid. McDonald’s and Domino’s and plain pasta with nothing on it. And M&Ms and ice cream and gummies…
He also doesn’t like his food to be contaminated by other food. For dinner, he eats a “platter,” which means a series of things separated into their own foodspace so never the twain shall meet. If an olive creeps up on his pasta, it’s going to get a smackdown.
Once, after eating the requisite plate of plain pasta, he was ready for cake and asked for a fork.
Brian told him to use the fork he had. But as Andrew quite reasonably explained, he could not use the same fork. Because the fork had pasta juice on it.
I’m telling you. Pure logic.
So tomorrow morning, when you wake up and it’s still dark out or maybe raining or you have a lot to do and you’re not looking forward to the day, I want you to say two words to yourself.
Pasta juice.
It is the only logical way to wake up with a smile
Photo: a plate of my favorite pesto pasta, also known as “green sauce”, from grandma’s recipes. Guaranteed to not be Andrew-approved.