The soil scientist spent the night here, but don't jump to conclusions. Always the gentleman, I slept on the couch in the living room. She was supposed to go back to town for the night, but for whatever reasons she decided to stay here. I dunno what the reasons were; she told them to someone at the other end of her cellular telephone, and of course I can't hear.
I was somewhat taken aback, though, when she expected me to turn on the furnace. In July. In Nebraska. In the Sandhills.
I recited to her a conversation I had with my first college roommate--this was when we were both just turned 18 years old--in an elevator, and as the building was very tall and the elevator very slow, the other passengers had a chance to overhear us, and looked at us as if two Bozos from Outer Space.
It went something like this:
Me: Where are we going tonight? That one place, or the other place?
He: I dunno; what about that place we went to that one time?
Me: You mean that one place we went to that one time, or that other place?
He: That place where those people were.
Me: Okay, fine by me, that one girl might be there.
He: That girl we met that one time?
Me: No, the girl we met when we were out with all those other people.
He: I'd just as soon we go to where that one other girl hangs out.
Me: Oh. That one girl we met with all those people we met the other time.
He: Yeah. Do you suppose she'll be at that one place?
Me: No, I think she'll be at the place we went that other time.
He: But she might be with the people we met that one time.
Me: Oh. You're right. Maybe we should go to that place we went that one time.
