Hubs, Son and I were watching coverage of the Pope's visit to the White House. We watched as the Pope greeted President Bush and they walked along the red carpet. Suddenly Hubs announces, "He's wearing red shoes!"
"Really?"
"I think so, run it back. Wait...yes. Yes, he's wearing red shoes."
"Red. Interesting."
"Yeah, I wonder why he'd wear red shoes. Not that there's anything wrong with red, I just wonder if it's symbolic or something."
"Well it's obvious, isn't it?"
"Not really."
"Well, if there are problems with the airlines, he can click his heels and chant 'There's no place like Rome, there's no place like Rome."
"Ah. It makes total sense!"
"Exactly."
It's at times like these that I worry about us.
2 comments:
As he was on his way to talk to that odd conglomeration of the heartless, brainless and gutless, the red shoes seem apropos.
I don't worry about you at all. . .well, sometimes. . .but I think that this is a good sign, rather than a bad one.
Love ya!
Post a Comment