Yesterday E and I had a fun, full day of wine tasting and resturant scouting with our friends M, K, and C, in preperation for M & K's wedding this fall. We all started telling stories on the drive back from the Russian River Valley. Many of the stories revovled around stupid things we did with our siblings (e.g., chasing each other with trash cans on our heads) or while at summer camp (e.g., setting the counceler's bunk ablaze with Off). It's been awhile since I laughed that hard. But my favorite story came from E.
He and C were at their mother's store, working. They had recently seen Howey Mandell do his stand-up schtick with the rubber glove on his head that he inflates. After playing with the rubber gloves on their heads for awhile, E decides to up the stakes. And proceeds to chase C around the store with a chef's knife, trying to pop the inflated glove which is on C's head. Then dad pulls up in the car. And for once, Dr. O was rendered speechless by his sons.
Upon hearing this story, all of us in the car are laughing, full-belly laughs. It was great. I don't know how C managed to keep the car driving straight. C proceeds to tell us that his IQ has decreased upon hearing these stories. And he knows he's going to have a dream of E chasing him with a chef's knife that night.
Well, ready for the wacky part? Of course last night I dreamed about E, his mom and a chef's knife. Luckily no rubber gloves were involved. Though I did manage to ruin the knife somehow, so it looked like someone had taken a bite out of it. Gotta be some symbolism in that one.
