Greetings, O Best Ones. This is Mrs. Cool Kid. The Cool Kid has been a grumpy dump lately and is refusing to write his column. He never really moved on from being a 2-year-old.
(Editor’s note: In the spirit of transparency, readers should be aware that the Cool Kid wrote this column, not his wife.)
(Editor’s note: In the spirit of transparency, readers should be aware that the Cool Kid wrote that note, not his editor. This note, too.)
Normally I wouldn’t care. He runs his racket, I run mine.
But yesterday was our anniversary and I was looking forward to our column this week being about how wonderful Mrs. Cool Kid is. (I say our column because what’s his is ... well, you know.)
So I’m writing it for him. Tough task. He’s very literate in his literal nonsense.
Can I get an amen on that, O Best Ones?
Anyway, here goes:
The first moment I met Ms. Gorgeous, I knew she was a reader. She smelled nice. All readers smell nice.
And she had the most amazing eyelashes I’ve ever seen -- an incomparable artist with a mascara brush. All readers have a thing they do better than anyone else. For example, I’m quicker than that “Incredibles” runt when it comes to running a joke into the ground.
What sealed it was our first conversation. She had interesting things to say and interesting ways of saying them. All that reading gives all us readers voluminous vocabularies, while people who don’t read much have whatever words one might muster to inaccurately describe a not very whopping list to pick from whilst chitting and/or chatting.
I dug her capris, too.
So pretty quickly, I asked Ms. Gorgeous to become Mrs. Cool Kid.
Every day since has been a blessing.
(Editor’s note: Ewwwwww, gag!)
(Editor’s note: In the spirit of transparency ...)