Pre-School Sweethearts

“Don’t mind me. I’m just nesting.”

Let the great debate begin. With the arrival date of a very expensive, very noisy long-term houseguest looming, Wife has been on a mission to clear out the junk in our house. She explains that she is “nesting,” but I like to think she is more along the lines of a pot-bellied robot sent back in time to eliminate high priority targets Flotsam & Jetsam, who know her only as The Tidynator. But that’s not what’s up for debate. I’m referring to the photo, circa 1989, that Wife found in a box filled with finger paintings, loose glitter, and what appears to be a lattice of popsicle sticks and glue. The photo features me, aged “This Many” (holds up four fingers), and Wife, aged “This Many” (holds up four and one half fingers), sitting back-to-back at adjacent tables in our pre-kindergarten nursery school. That’s right, Wife and I are Pre-School Sweethearts. Sure, we weren’t so much dating as Avoiding Each Other At All Costs (girls are gross!), but Pre-School Contemporaries doesn’t really have the same ring to it, does it? Here’s where the debate really heats up: in the photo, I can be seen staring intently over my shoulder in the direction of Wife, who is being served a lunch-time hot dog by our teacher, or, as I knew her, The Lady Who Sometimes Gives Us Hot Dogs. The question is, was I unconsciously experiencing True Love, that great cosmic force that binds all beings across time and space? Or was I just really hungry? I would ask The Tidynator to travel back in time for the answer, but she went shopping for storage bins (she said she’d be back).

 

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