I emailed my dad and asked him to send me a baby photo for use at Sarcastro’s baby shower. I don’t know what it’s going to be used for, so I’m not going to post it here in case it’s some kind of “Match the blogger with her baby photo” game, but let me just say that I think my photo is a.) cute as hell and b.) going to make people guess Coble instead of me, based on the thematic decor in the room.
Anyway, my dad called me this afternoon, which I thought was in response to my email, but it turns out, he was just calling to shoot the shit about Microsoft. You may recall that there was a time when my dad called Microsoft so frequently everyone who answered the phone knew him by name. He has decided not to upgrade his OS or Office until he hears that the first round of bugs have been worked out. How he will hear this I’m not sure. Perhaps his pals at the Microsoft Help Desk will give him a call when the timing is right.
While he was on the phone, he told me this interesting thing. When my beloved Uncle B. first started teaching, he was living down in Jacksonville, Florida and he rented a house in the zoo, right behind the giraffes. When my dad would visit him, he could wake up early in the morning and stroll over to the giraffes and talk to them and rub their noses. Well, not their noses, the part right above their noses where there’s fur, whatever that body part is called.
But isn’t that weird? A house on zoo grounds? I’d love to live at the zoo. Maybe I could get the Nashville Zoo to put us on display. Just build us a house to live in, but with one side all Plexiglas and we’d just live our lives and folks could look in on us and wonder “Is the girl going to get out of bed?” “Is the boy really going to put the empty milk jug on the counter when the trash can is right there?” “If we yell loud enough, will they turn the channel to the big game so we can check the score?”