I stayed up late last night after hosting my book group. This morning I met a dear friend for breakfast (just had to have those pumpkin pancakes again before the recipe gets filed away until next October).
We were talking about possible dates for a gathering of friends. My mind began to meander off, thinking about offering to host, wondering if we had enough chairs to go around. Then I heard these words fall out of my mouth:
“How many of them are us?”
There was a moment of silence before we both started to laugh, just a pause when it hit us how odd those words sounded strung together.
(And for those of you who do not speak slip-of-the-brain-ese, that translates to: “How many of us are there?”)
My friend looked at me kindly. She understood exactly what I was trying — and failing — to say. One more reason she’s a dear friend.
Perhaps the coffee just hadn’t kicked in yet.
Yep. That’s my story and I’m sticking with it.