So I get home late last night and apologize for being late. I explain to my wife that sometimes I get really in to writing the blog posts that I have to write (on a different site and with way more thought and research). I tell her I posted it on Facebook and she takes a look.

“Wow. It’s long,” she says.

“I didn’t think it was that long.  It’s mostly 3 and 4 sentence paragraphs.”

“I can’t read all of it.”

That’s no problem for me. I realize it’s probably not very interesting for most people to read about notices published in the federal register.  So, I turn my attention back to heating up my dinner.

“Oh! [Name]  and [Name]  had their baby,” my wife called from the living room.

I don’t respond. Not because I’m trying to be rude or anything, but because I have no idea who the hell these people are and I’m searching my memory to figure out how I’m supposed to know them.

“You mean… the people from our birth class…?”

“No! [NAME] AND [NAME]. They used to live downstairs.”

“Who…? Oh yeah,  them.”

Hmmm, I thought. I guess I give as much of a shit about other people’s babies as she gives about my blog posts.


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