What's That, You Say?

           Have you ever met someone who “hears what they want to hear”?  Yes, you have: Me. 

         A few years ago I asked a group of friends what they would do for a living, if they weren't whatever they are now.  One friend, a doctor, said, "Psychopath."

         I was immediately fascinated. What a cool choice!

         Then he elaborated and I realized he had said "soccer player."

          Okay, not nearly as exciting as a psychopath.

          Then the other day a college student from China, who had recently joined our church, came over for dinner. He was delightful—happy and genial, great sense of humor.

          I asked him what he was majoring in. 

          “Pastry,” he said.

          Ding-ding-ding—best news of the day, right? I told him he could come over and do his homework in our kitchen every single day.

          “That’s so cool that you’re studying pastry,” I said.

          “No, no—history,” he explained.

          Oh. My happy expression melted onto the floor, and here’s where the needle scratches the record, for those of you who know that sound.

          All the wind left my sails.  History?  I mean, I have nothing against that field of study, but compared to pastry?      (sigh)

          These kids today.

Hey, are you having a heat wave where you live?  Staying inside? That’s a perfect time to watch my Youtube Mom videos. Enjoy a pastry while you watch!

You Don't Have to Major in Drama

            What is it about college life?  You can’t go two days without High Drama in the Dorms, Drama on the Campus, Drama in the Parking Lots.  If you want to be an actor, you don’t even need to major in theatre: It’s a built-in prerequisite for every other experience offered there.

            I have to confess, it’s mostly us girls.  We trade playground swings for mood swings, and our childhood pals for people we live with who then steal everything from our groceries to our boyfriends.

            My three boys never called home with wild tales to report of elaborate schemes to hide their belongings, get even with a roommate, or to soothe a crying classmate in 4C.  But girls can multi-task and do all three of those things before 10 a.m. 

            Our daughter described a soap opera starring two of her roommates who were hiding a third from the management who had kicked Third out, that lasted until two in the morning.  There was thrashing, there was crying, followed by a sunny day of everyone getting along again.

            “What they really need to do,” I told Bob, “is get a crop duster to fly low over all our universities, and release a cloud of Valium over the dorms.”  Hey, they do this sort of thing to control mosquitoes, and I think coeds pose a far greater threat to human happiness.  With ideas like this, I am amazed that I am not on ten different advisory boards.

            Bob was working at the computer in the family room as I was in the kitchen, about  40 feet away, but still in view.  I was cooking as the phone rang.  It was our daughter.  She needed help with more drama.  This time it was a creepy student who wanted to date her, wouldn’t take an obvious brush-off, and kept showing up and standing too close.  He made snippy comments to the boy she did want to date, he came by to visit and wouldn’t leave, and turned into a stalker who didn’t understand that stalking is supposed to be secretive.  She told me about his angry outbursts, his childish whining, and some other behavior that was garnering him one enemy after another.

            I listened quietly for a while, then said, “Honey, he’s just a tormented misfit.”

            Bob swiveled around on the computer chair and said, “Hellooo?  I’m right here; I can hear you.”        

            Well, of course now Nicole and I crack up and I’m laughing too hard to be of use to anyone.  Maybe I should ask the crop dusters to swing over my house instead.