How Do You Think You Got Here Anyway?

So I was talking with an old college chum last night.   (If I call her a “chum” it makes it seems less like I’m talking about a girl yet again.)

Now one of the great difficulties with spending time with people that you share any sort of past with is determining which things are still safe to tease them about, because, for example, just because they laughed at the time when they ended up dousing themselves in the fountain, doesn’t mean they still find it funny.  (For the record, I do still find that funny.  I really didn’t think that fountain would be slippery enough to make me lose my balance.)

So I thought I’d stick to safer topics for a while, and mentioned yesterday’s post about “joie de vivre.”  The conversation meandered for a while after that, until a story that I hadn’t heard before was told about her parents, prompting me to make a comment about her parent’s own “joie de vivre.”

And then . . . the same person who had nodded approvingly at the idea of my joie de vivre, was suddenly begging for a toothpick to gouge her own eyes out at the idea of her parent’s joie de vivre.

Somedays it amazes me that humanity manages to reproduce at all.


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