A million degrees. Perhaps two million with the heat index. In September. The leaves are too fried to turn color. Even a little bit.
I was occupying my time in the only even remotely fun activity I could find. Washing the car. A neighborhood tot was in the driveway and wanted to fiddle with the Future Rock Star's new ($15.00) tennis racket. The following exchange...
FRS: No, you can't mess with my racket. It's NEW.
NT: Oh yeah? Well, my dad could take that thing and hit a ball out of the atmosphere...past the moon!
FRS: So? He's about fifty years older than me, that's why he can do that...
NT: No it's not. It's because HE IS A DAD.
FRS: So what? I have a dad too. He's right there, washing my mom's car.
NT: [Peering at me from a distance] Hmph. Yeah? Well my dad is HAIRIER!!! That's right! They all call him HAIRY HENRY!!
"Hairy Henry" is a VERY respectable neurosurgeon. And now I know his secret identity. I almost burst keeping myself from laughing aloud. I guess that even a mundane chore like washing the car can provide an Epic moment and (later) a loud laugh.
Dr. H. Henry.
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