1 Happy St

The weather over the weekend was outstanding, which meant all my neighbors were outside doing work around their houses, including Old Guy, who on Saturday managed to start his happy hour at 8:30 in the morning. God Bless him. He called me over to join him for a quick alcoholic celebration of this glorious weather before we started our day. What kind of person would Michael be (and yes, he managed to call me Michael a couple times) to turn down a cup of coffee, er, a can of beer with an old man on a Saturday morning? So of course I accepted his invite.

As we sat there in his front yard, we discussed everything from Mark Buehrle's no-hitter earlier in the week to what the neighborhood looked like when he first moved into his house back in 1957. It was a terrific conversation. But then this happened:

"So how's Gail?" he asked.

"Who?" I replied, already cracking a smile in anticipation of where this conversation was headed.

"Gail," he said again. "How's she doing?"

"Oh, you mean Jill." I said, barely able to contain myself.

"Her name is Jill?" he asked. "I'm sorry, I thought it was Gail. I hope I've never called her that."

"I'm sure you're fine," I said. "She's never mentioned it to me."

Isn't he the best? I'd like the record to show that I have corrected him, so if he gets it wrong next time, it's on him.