Last night my husband (who had nothing better to do with the 2.3 nanoseconds he has left over after sleeping and working and practicing his piano lessons loud enough to wake up our little insomniac) joined the Knights of Columbus.
I'm glad he did that ... really. I'm delighted that he'll have an opportunity to make some meaningful friendships outside his own family. It's great that I have a husband who wants to serve God and the Church. I'm not complaining about that, honest.
What irked me (don't tell him I told you this) was the way he came home looking like the cat who ate the canary. And when I asked him, "So, dear ... Did they teach you the secret handshake?", he burst out ...
"WELL, I'D LIKE TO TELL YOU
BUT I'M NOT ALLOWED TO TELL YOU
ANYTHING ABOUT WHAT WE DO
IN THE MEETINGS!"
Then he grinned some more. Then, just for good measure. "I'd like to tell you. Really. But I'm not allowed." Pause. "It's ... secret."
Honestly, I haven't seen this kind of carrying on since ... breakfast, when Christopher does his level best to vex his sister into a screaming fit.
"OK, honey. No problem," says I.
"I'd really like to tell you ... no big deal, really," he insists.
(Insert eye roll here.) "I'm glad you enjoyed yourself."
I wonder how long this "don't speak outside the meeting" thing will last when they figure out that Craig is even more calendar-challenged than I am, and that if they need him to be somewhere or remember to do something for longer than five minutes ... Well, they gotta speak to ME!
And they'd better remember my secret handshake. (It involves copious quantities of chocolate.)