I've had several "blonde" moments recently. My hubby has taken to just clamping his lips shut and swallowing any number of interesting reactions (for some reason, he thinks calling me on my obvious DUH moment might jeopardize his personal safety).
Take yesterday, for example. My hubby was watching the Ryder Cup (the annual golf tournament between America and Europe). I was sitting in the living room with him, writing. My iPod was in my ears, the soundtrack to Equilibrium was turned up loud enough to block all outside noise, and I only occasionally glanced at the tv as my hubby exclaimed over a particularly interesting...an unusually riveting...oh, never mind. How can you use the words "interesting" and "riveting" to describe watching golf?
Anyway, I was glancing at the screen and noticed that two men had on very similar shirts. Now, it is golf and therefore the fashion options are limited. Still, I felt a twinge of sympathy for the two men who'd somehow managed to show up to a very important event dressed like Bobbsey twins.
Twenty minutes later, my hubby told me I had to hear the upcoming interview with some golfer named Boo. As in ghost. As in To Kill A Mockingbird. And yes, apparently that's his real name. I paused my iPod, looked up, and saw that Boo was wearing a red polo shirt too.
Tiger Woods always wears a red polo when he golfs so I figured, "Hey! Maybe all new golfers are trying Tiger's good luck ritual. Can't hurt."
It took another twenty minutes, several glances at the screen, and more head-scratching over the veritable sea of red before my hubby's earlier explanation that the Ryder cup was a competition between America and Europe for it to sink in.
See? Blonde moments. Let's hope they don't leak over into my writing.