"Evan is a terrorist!"

I haven't posted my antics lately. It's not that I've become subdued, I just haven't. 


A couple of weeks ago, while I was cooking dinner or doing something food-worthy in the kitchen, Steph was in the living room finding something to watch. The non-politcal woman, then, turns on the Republican National Convention and proclaims how old people are packed in the stands. 

Here's the thing: This statement was funny because we have this theory that old people don't like me. So, now I begin my story-within-a-story (because I am tangental -- I interrupt even myself). 

Eons ago, when Steph and I were mere saplings, we worked together in a green house that was stationed in the parking lot of a grocery store. It was a slow morning and we were done pruning and watering, and so I picked up the newspaper that was sitting on the table. An elderly-sort-of-woman walked in, picked up a flat of flowers and then checked out. Steph helped her out, and then the elderly-prune-of-a-woman (no, I am not ageist...they hate me) looked at me dead-pan and said, "Does she do all the work? Do you just sit around and not do anything?"

I did nothing to her. I was merely sitting there and Steph claimed her. It's not like I told Steph to "go be a woman and do your job" or something sexist. 

I. Said. Nothing. I was being as harmless as an ant. 

But, whatever. The old bag didn't like me. 

That's not the only account in which an elderly person has said something hostile to me. I can't remember other times, but there are more, that Steph can attest to. 

And so, as you can see, we have a joke about how the old people don't like me. 

So, I'm in the kitchen, OK, and Steph's watching the Republican National Convention when she says how the stands are packed with old people (now we're all caught up, right?) when she says they're holding up signs:

"They're holding up a sign with your name on it and it's crossed out!"

I busted up laughing.

A few minutes pass, I'm still doing whatever, and then I hear a terrible gasp come from her.

"What? Evan is a terrorist?"

At this point I'm clawing at the floor and the linoleum is curling under my fingernails, I'm laughing so hard.

She was proud, that Stephanie, making me guffaw so.