Whenever Cody starts spouting off law school blah blah my eyes glaze over and I nod catatonically. I really want to care. Really I do. But a lot of it just doesn’t compute. It’s safe to say he keeps talk of federal jurisdiction out of our conversations and I don’t bore him with the finer points of why you must slowly sweat your vegetables before adding them to the soup.
Fast forward to Friday night.
I received an email with an attached contract that I needed to sign for a new gig I’m about to begin (SQUEE! shh.). I started to read it over and wouldn’t you know it, my eyes glazed over and my brain started to shut down. So I called Cody in from the other room.
“Hey dude, wanna read a contract?”
Boy did he. He read that thing like I read Perez Hilton. Focused. Intent. Interested.
And when he was done he let me know that according to this contract I was under obligation to do something I didn’t want to be doing and that there was no way out and no way of changing it once I signed it.
Really? It said that? Because all I saw was “blah blah money blah blah”.
Anyway. He said that I should write what I wanted added into the contract and send it back to be added in.
Me? Write what? But I don’t even…I but I, how do I?
Cody flippantly said “I’ll write it.”
I thought “Ha ha sure he will, like he’ll really write a clause into a contract for me so I can protect myself.” And then it dawned on me. “HE CAN WRITE A CLAUSE INTO MY CONTRACT SO I CAN PROTECT MYSELF!” In that one moment it dawned on me that all this time my husband hasn’t been with me he’s been learning how to write legal garbage to protect people like me who don’t get legal garbage.
You see, Cody’s school brain has been growing and getting infinitely smarter. I just don’t see his school brain much. But I do see his home brain a lot and sorry to say it hasn’t gotten quite as smart as his school brain has, so it’s easy to forget just how book smart he is.
My mom is a computer programmer. It’s easy for me to forget that my mom is a class A computer geek until I see her surrounded by some of the supreme uber dorks she works with typing seven hundred words a minute in insane computer languages.
Then there’s my dad. He could tell you the ins and outs of any piece of furniture he sees. How well it’s made, where the wood came from, how it was put together. He could even reproduce it down to the exact detail if you gave him enough time.
My sister knows every dog and cat breed ever to be ever, and the pros and cons of every single one.
I have another friend who eats breathes and sleeps music. The other day at lunch I asked her why everyone sucks at singing happy birthday and she went into stuff about octave jumps, seventh notes and funny pitches. Who knew?
And then there’s me. Any one of you who know me in real life probably know better than to ever ask me a baking question again because chances are I GAVE YOU AN EARFUL and you could have cared less about half the stuff that poured out of my mouth. I am fluent in bake speak. And I speak it liberally.
So what about you? What language are you fluent it? What question could I ask you that would set off your “speak”? What are you dorky at? An expert at? Even if it’s something as small as knitting tea cozies, tell me. Tell the world.
You know, just in case someone needs a perfect tea cozy. Or whatever.
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