Ten.Two Thousand, Three Hundred & Ninety-Seven
Finally Friday.
The tips of the trees turn gold from the morning sun.
First, I must clear all of the laundry from the sofa so that I can finally see it again.
I keep checking my calendar for tomorrow. There’s nothing, right? No, nothing. Wait. Am I absolutely certain that it’s nothing?
This one little thing has me feeling anxious. I tell myself to calm down; there is time. I have plenty of time.
Before I say a word, he looks at me and says, “Hot spiced chai with a shot of espresso?” “Yes. But make that two.” “You have a game today?” It must be the jacket that gave it away.
She asks me what I’m doing a ChatGPT. Getting dad jokes, of course.
So, so close. In another gym, with a different set of refs, this would have been an official win. But it’s still a win in my book. Last year, we were crying in the locker room. This year, we’re laughing.
He tells me that it was some of the best basketball he’s seen in the gym in the 30-something years he’s been an athletic director and watching these games and that he hopes I stick around for a few more years. That is the plan. That is the plan.
Three more. I want at least three more.
