Last night, Tom and I were in the kitchen doing our important retired-people activities (most likely, scratching and mumbling). I don’t remember exactly what we were doing or what we were talking about, but I do remember seeing the refrigerator light gleaming off Tom’s backside as he peered into its depths.
“ . . . and I am certfectly papable of handling my own . . .” he continued a conversation we were having before he bent to look into the refrigerator.
“You’re . . .” I interrupted, puzzled. “You’re certfectly papable? Certfectly papable? Did you just say ‘certfectly papable’?”
“I said I was ‘perfectly capable,’” he corrected.
“No, you didn’t!!” I crowed. “You said you were ‘certfectly papable’! I heard you. You said ‘certfectly papable’!”
“Certfectly papable,” he repeated, suddenly liking the sound of it. He seemed to be pleased he had said it, like he had uttered something witty and quotable. “Yes,” he agreed proudly, “I am certfectly papable.”
And that’s why it’s good that we have each other. He needs someone to point out his ‘witty and quotable’ sayings, and maybe even write them down. And me? Well, I am very happy to oblige.