When I'm Sixty-Four

After church last Sunday, Travis said, "You looked really nice today."

"Thanks!"

"You don't look thirty."

"Oh? How old do I look?"

He studies me for a minute ...

"I'd say 25."

"Oh. Cool."

"Well, actually probably 26."

"There's a difference between looking 25 and looking 26?"

"Yeah."

"What is it?"

"I don't know, it's just different."

I shouldn't be surprised at the splitting of hairs by a man who calls me from the bus to tell me to pick him up at about 6:42, but I always like to hear the thought process that runs through his head. However, when I'm sixty-four, he'd better tell me I look like I'm forty-seven and not fifty.

Helmet Head

One year I asked Travis what he wanted for Christmas.

"A helmet."

"Oh. Are you going to start riding your bike?"

"No."

"Oh. Why do you need a helmet?"

"To protect my head."

"From ..."

"Stuff."

"So you'll wear this helmet when?"

"All the time."

Earplugs

My dad is an earplug fanatic, in the sense that he buys huge boxes full of hundreds of pairs of earplugs. He uses them every night (so he doesn't have to hear himself snore, I think) and always offers them to others. I can't stand the things, but Travis took him up on it one night.

Now, Travis doesn't hear me at least half the time I talk to him (and then complains I don't talk enough), so I didn't find it too unusual at first that I had to repeat myself a lot over the next few days, but the issue came to a head when I asked him the same question several times, loudly, in the car. I resorted to poking him in the shoulder violently to get his attention, at which point he pulls earplugs from his ears and asks,

"Did you say something?"