This morning, as I was leaving the house, I mentioned to Mr. Chili that I was going to have lunch in Local U. Town with Mike, and I asked him if he’d like to join us (since Mr. Chili works in LUTown, too, and doesn’t usually pack a lunch and, you know, because I love him). His response led me to believe that he’d rather not, given that he’d be sitting with two dorky English-teacher types. In fact, I was left with the impression that he’d prefer to spend his lunch hour having a bikini wax than endure the dorkiness that was sure to accompany our salads and sandwiches.
I was surprised, then, when my phone rang at lunchtime with Mr. Chili on the other end asking me to order him a turkey melt and telling me that he was on his way to meet us.
The title of this post isn’t about me accusing my husband of being jealous of my spending lunchtime with another man, though; it’s about MY being jealous of the fact that he sat down and fit right in.
When we get together with Sphyrnatude (which is about once a week) the two of them start going at it with the geeky scientist-engineer stuff. They use words that I, with all my experience with language, can only guess at, and often they don’t use words at all – the number of acronyms these gentlemen can fluently trot out in a 45 minute lunch is enough to make a normal head spin. Usually, I spend those lunches in polite observation of my favorite geeks in happy company with one another; I do not add anything of substance to those discussions.
My husband, though? My husband sits down with two Master’s-degreed English teachers and slips right into our conversations about curriculum building and long-term planning and critical texts and secondary materials like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Bastid’s too damned smart for me….