When in Rome.

When in Rome.

Our project intern here is my new favorite chatty girl friend. Easy to talk to, open, approachable, complimentary, good-humored, perfectly liberal, etc. The main problem is that he's a boy. And before you get any naughty thoughts in your head, please remember that this year's crop of interns were born in like, 1983. The turn of the decade at 1980 is, for my generation, such a tidy distinction between adult relationships and like, pedophilia. Or, my little brother, who was also born in 1983. And yes, I was born only a few months shy of the 80s, but damn it, those four months make all the difference. And yes, my husband is five years older than me. I'm a walking double-standard.

A week ago, the intern and I were discussing his recent boys' trip to Italy, and the fact that they ran out of money and slept on some famous steps of some famous building in Rome, blah blah blah.

I said, "No way! A friend of mine [WHO DID AND SHALL REMAIN NAMELESS] had sex on some famous steps of some famous building in some famous city in Italy. Maybe it was the same step."

Thankfully glossing over how un-special of a coincidence that would be, he then fired off such questions as, "So, who was it with? Some Italian guy? A tourist? Older? Younger? What time of day was it?" and so on. After I told him that I didn't really ask those kind of questions, he gave me a disappointed look and said, "Oh come ON. Details! I always ask for details."

I feel like a failure to the greater sisterhood of girl friends everywhere.

***

Also, someday I will write a deep post again, and that may or may not be a promise. I have plenty of fodder right now, however. For example, we are currently reading a book about reclaiming the Book of Revelation from the fundamentalists, and it has lots of big words and big thoughts, and our tiny little group spent most of tonight's grouping session reading paragraphs aloud and shaking our heads and laughing nervously and feeling a little lower-intellect-ed (okay, maybe that was just me). And then we realized that the book sounds exactly like a Bill Mahedy sermon. You probably don't know this man, but imagine someone giving a sermon on reclaiming [insert Christian thought]from [someone bastardizing that thought] and making you feel simultaneously inspired, faithful, enraged, empowered, and at least 25% sheepish.

So, until then, it's yellow fridges and girl-ish interns for you.