The truth

I have a young coworker who can get away with saying the true things that nobody else can say. Because everyone loves him and somehow it’s all ok when he says it, but if anyone else were to say it, it would sound too critical.

This coworker has informed me that, in regards to houses, my husband must find me to be a pain in the ass. Well! I set him straight. I quickly informed him that, no, it’s not just regarding houses that I’m a pain in the ass. I’m a pain in the ass about a lot of things. (But houses is definitely up there.)

Speaking of houses, I found out that the one on Camino de la Tierra has the septic drain field on the correct side of the house (correct being not where I want to someday build a pool). But John hasn’t even seen that one yet. He’s scheduled to see it on Thursday.

John got up before dawn on Monday to fly to California. He then took a midnight flight from SFO to Washington DC, figured he’d shower & put his suit on at a community center and then went to give his presentation, scheduled for noon. I gather he gets to sleep in an actual hotel tonight. I don’t know how that all went, other than he did send a “safe landing” text from DC this morning. He’s nuts. They don’t pay him enough for that ridiculousness.

I know that guys who make millions a year have schedules like that, but John does not make the big bucks. And those rich important guys presumably sleep on those beds on the planes. It’s hard for me to believe that there are actually beds on planes, but I’ve seen them advertised in magazines. Where would those beds even be? There’s no place for beds on planes. But I’ve seen the photos in magazines; it must be true.

However, it is definitely not relevant to our situation, one way or the other. We’re not the sort of people who get to sleep on beds on planes. The bottom line is, John works too hard.

And “beds on planes” sounds like a Dr. Seuss book. Right? It’s the truth.