During one of our video calls, the boy suddenly stands up and tells me he has to show me something. He disappears from the frame momentarily, then returns with a big black object. He swivels the thing around in several directions to show me what turns out to be one of those huge duffel bags with a metal frame and wheels.
Boy: I got this from one of the shops down at ISAF. I can use this for check-in luggage. What do you think?
Me: Baby, it’s huge. I can probably fit in there.
Boy (chuckles): Yeah, you certainly can.
Me: I hope you’re not planning to chop me up in pieces and stuff me in that bag.
Boy (nonchalantly): No, no need for that. I can just chop your head off and you’ll easily fit in there.
See, at my age, dating is no longer that complicated. The most you can hope for is that the guy is not a psycho killer. Or maybe a big enough duffel bag.
Well, there is always that silver lining, or so they say. One thing that’s been improved by my time out of an office is the state of my elbows. You know the condition called (hmm, I guess I made this up) office elbows?
Office elbows = a darkening of the skin at the elbow area as a result of one's elbows being constantly propped up, or rubbing on the edge of the desk.
For me, no more office means no more office elbows. Ah, there’s the rub.