are we really talking about this?

Okay, so it'd be nice if we still had that 500 Pace car.

Instead, the day I turned it back in, Greg called to tell me he'd gotten in a car accident. And so it goes. Three steps forward, one step back. Fortunately, no real injuries. But, we're left with a car that has a rear bumper that's barely hanging on and certainly won't be the car we use for our summer vacation.

Scratch that off the options list.

So, my husband and I found ourselves sitting in the waiting room of a collision center today and I soon realized men and women are from a different breed. Not that I didn't know this already, but I'm rather sure it was the first time Greg had ever watched, at any length, a soap opera. Whichever one it was, I can't remember, though I did recognize Bo Brady. Or is he on another show by a different name? Who knows. I DO know I wasn't digging the diamond in his ear.

Back to the point, here's the conversation that followed:

Him: What IS this?

Me, sarcastically: It's called a soap opera. Lame, huh?

Him: The acting is awful.

Me: Yeah, well. It's not brain surgery.

Him: And what's the deal with her hair? Helllloooo, Conner Prairie. It's out of style.

Me: It's called an UP-DO.

Greg: More like a NOT-DO.

Me: It's not THAT bad.

Greg: And why do they keep jumping from scene to scene like that? It's annoying.

Me, thinking to myself: Please call our name, I can't take much more.

Greg: Look at her. Terrrrrrible acting.

Suddenly, I found it odd to be having this conversation. And more importantly...

...thankful he didn't LIKE it.