I called Daniel late this afternoon. My main reason for calling was that my mom called me earlier today, saying "Do you think Daniel got the package I sent UPS on Monday? It was supposed to get there Tuesday. Maybe it got lost! I put a loaf of banana bread in there, and it's going to get stale."
You're probably thinking "Why didn't she simply call Daniel to find out?" Wait, let me pause here . . . Bwah! Oh, that's a good one. You're so funny. Silly, if she'd called Daniel, she'd have missed an opportunity to subtly make me realize I've raised a rude, ungrateful son, and IT'S ALL MY FAULT. You think my mom would pass up a chance like that? Please.
Also, I'm sure she knows I don't have nearly enough to do to keep me busy, and she was kind enough to devise a little task that would occupy some of my empty day. Bless her heart.
Anyway, as you might have guessed, he's been busy this week and hadn't checked his mailbox until today. The package, of course, was there, and he was happily munching on banana bread while we talked. I did chide him for not calling my mom right away to thank her, but he said he'd planned to call her tonight. Sure, he could be giving me the party line, but he's been doing better about remembering niceties without my reminders lately. I'll give him the benefit of the doubt here.
We chatted about his classes, and then he confessed that he's developed a new interest. This new interest--it's so unlike him! I've been thinking about what it means ever since I talked to him. I hardly know where to begin . . . I mean, it involves changing partners frequently. Daniel claimed it's good exercise, but I don't know; that sounds like an excuse to me. I would have felt hypocritical discouraging him because I have to admit--embarrassing as it is--that I engaged in this same practice in my younger days.
Well, I guess the only thing to do is just blurt it out: My son has . . .
. . . taken up swing dancing.
Try not to judge him too harshly?