We’re in the final stages of trip planning and last night Mike suggested renting a car and taking a road trip while we’re in Denmark. We could drive through a little town some of my ancestors are from. I can’t remember the name right now, but it starts with an H. And it probably has a lot of vowels in it.
… Which makes me wonder, not for the first time, whether poor Mike thinks it’s fun or exasperating to be married to someone with the memory of a goldfish. I suppose it could probably go either way, depending upon the conversation. I mean, he does repeat a lot of the same jokes. And I almost always laugh, which I think is the number one quality you should look for in a spouse.
I was at a friend’s party some time ago when someone noticed a rather meaty-looking cobweb hanging from a light fixture, and said something about not wanting to run into the spider that had spun it.
“It’s just a cobweb,” I said, authoritatively, “they’re made from dust, not spiders.”
I don’t remember if I punctuated that statement with a highly creative and mature-sounding duuuh, but I probably did.
I do remember conversation coming to a standstill and everyone looking at me like I was drunk.
Most likely, my misconception about cobwebs and their connection to actual arachnids was not my fault. It probably came from a day when someone wanted me to practice piano like I was supposed to, and not whine about how scary and cobwebby our unfinished family room-slash-piano-storage-space was.
The most likely origin of this weird belief is the person in my life whose factoids usually went without question. My Dad.