Confused Little Ant

I had lunch with her to­day. She had been gone to Spain all last se­mes­ter, and had just got­ten back the pre­vi­ous week. She came up to South Bend to get her job at the Center for the Homeless set­tled, and to run a few oth­er er­rands. She cut her hair.

I re­al­ly like the new look, al­though her long hair was nice as well. Now she has this quite at­trac­tive flip to her hair, which height­ens her al­ready quite att­trac­tive­ness. It was a bit strange to be ac­tu­al­ly talk­ing to her af­ter so long an ab­sence. I left things un­said as usu­al [while talk­ing my lips off].

She spoke of Spain in glow­ing terms, she wants to go back. It sounds quite the nice place to be. She al­so spoke of her friend Javi [I hope not boyfriend]. She does not know if she wants to live in America, be­cause af­ter be­ing abroad she un­der­stands just how work-cen­tric the American cul­ture is. I’ve felt the same way my­self, but just on hearsay, that Europe sounds like my sort of p[l]ace.

Her fa­ther called while we ate at Macri’s Deli, and when he heard I was there with her, told her to tell me a joke: he loves bad jokes.

Q: Why were the lit­tle ants con­fused?

A: Because some­one told them that their un­cles were aunts.

That one was pret­ty bad, but for me the hu­mor de­rives from know­ing a per­son who rel­ish­es such bad jokes.

She and I are both quite pro­tec­tive of our in­ner thoughts, we speak them rarely, so it is most dif­fi­cult for one such as me to work up the con­fi­dence to broach cer­tain sub­jects with her. I hope I can do it the next chance I get.