Musings of an Italian-American Catholic wife, mother, and writer

Musings of an Italian-American Catholic wife, mother, and writer

Tuesday, January 21, 2014

The Caveman Speaks at 5 P.M.



On days when I have to pick the boys up from school, I get Jonathan first and then look forward to a quiet ten minutes of conversation while we wait for Timothy to come out.


Yeah, conversation. Sometimes yes, and sometimes no.


Today it was no.


Now, I've written before about Caveman Speak (that teenage way of talking which involves grunting and one-word answers), but my goodness Jonathan takes Caveman Speak to an all new level. He has the nicest smile and the cutest dimples, but he doesn't divulge anything.


"Sometimes I just don't feel like talking," he says.


"Sometimes?" I ask. "You never talk."


"Well, sometimes I don't like to talk right after school gets out," he explains.


"Okay, I get that. Tomorrow when I pick you up I won't say a word," I promise. "I'll wave to you when you get in the car, and then I'll drive with one hand on the wheel and the other covering my mouth."


He laughs.


"By the way, what time tomorrow will you be ready to talk?" I ask. "I mean, is there a magic time?"


"Yeah, five o'clock," he replies.


I nod. Okay, then.


"Wait a minute!" I say a few minutes later. "Tomorrow you have to work. You'll be gone at five o' clock!"


He smiles his nice smile and flashes his cute dimples.


I've been hoodwinked.


1 comment:

Ua said...

He got you good!