Some people snort when they laugh and I’ve never been able to understand how they accomplish it. But yesterday I was on the phone registering with our new parish and the lady on the other line asked how old Craig is.
It was like I was just minding my own beeswax when someone whacked me in the back of the head with a telephone book (what’s a telephone book anymore?) –I snorted, watching my own spit fly and hit the window in front of me, laughing before I knew it was coming. And then I laughed a second round in surprise at myself. Still on the phone here.
I was suddenly struck with feeling old but knowing I was wrong. I haven’t mentally visited my age all year, much less Craig’s age. Like when you’re 17 and you spend all year waiting to be 18. Yeah I haven’t even thought about it.
I felt like saying “forty. My husband’s forty.” The things we’ve been through, the children we are raising, the house that we bought, the bills we are paying and the school that’s coming for our six year old is the work of people who are 40+.
At least fourty.
But no. Craig is 29.
So I snort-laughed because I’m doing stuff my responsible parents do. I realized that inspite of myself, I’m doing responsible things I never thought I’d do.
Like registering at a new parish.
Maybe I’ve never even really laughed until that moment.
And I’m 30.
I just spent 5 minutes working out why forty isn’t spelled fourty.
Because flour. :)