Maturity
Eli has a set of plastic letters with magnets in them that he can stick on the refrigerator to help him become more familiar with the alphabet. Yesterday he scattered them all over the kitchen floor. That was the setting for a conversation between myself and Gloria. For some reason, what started it all escapes me, but my internal recorder kicked in soon after.The thoughts running through my head at the time are in italics. And I wasn't wearing socks--a crucial piece of information, believe it or not.
"It's funny," I say, as Gloria puts away some dishes, "It seems that in a general sense, many women feel that they're not empowered, but in almost all the marriages I'm aware of, the woman is definitely in control."
"Well, there's a good reason for that," Gloria says.
Hey. Those little magnet letters are on the floor.
"Really? And what might that be?" I ask.
"Because women are more mature," she says.
"Right," I say. "Just keep imagining that."
I wonder if I could pick up a letter with my toes.
"I'm not imagining," she says, laughing.
That would be cool.
"How do you even define that word 'mature'?" I ask.
If I can pick it up with my toes, I can stick it onto the fridge with my foot.
My bare foot starts nudging a "C."
"It means we are --what are you doing?"
"Nothing," I say. Dropped it. Damn.
"You're trying to pick up one of those letters with your FOOT, aren't you? Oh, that's disgusting!"
"People with long toes pick things up with them," I say. Almost got it. "Some Indians can write with their feet. You're just being provincial. " Yes! Got it!
"Were you asking a question about maturity?" she asks
"Look!" I say, as I put the "C" on the fridge. "I did it! Heh." Gloria shakes her head and starts walking out of the kitchen. "Don't go!" I yell. "I'll spell a word for you!"
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