YoungBobCupFest

It's almost 10 p.m. in Bermtopia and my feet, hips AND lower back tell me we've covered a lot of territory today:

HOOP FEST: The world's largest 3 v 3 street basketball tournament. It's said it's like going to Walmart except you're in downtown Bermtopia. They may have a point there.

The Reader's Digest version: The Number 2 Son's team lost both games today and are now in the Loser King bracket, meaning (1) we get to watch a bit of the England-Germany World Cup game tomorrow a.m. (a serendipitous little dividend) and (2) if they (the N2S team, not England or Germany) win two games tomorrow, they get the coolest T-shirt ever (traditionally WAY cooler than the court champion shirt but try telling that to the N2S). Film at 11. Or tomorrow. Or whatever. The N2S was a bit of a grumpy dumpling but I think the evening's festivities shall soothe the savage beast.

US-GHANA WORLD CUP GAME: We are ALL grumpy dumplings about this. Please don't ask.

YOUNG BOB FLYNN: The Wonderfully Patient Spouse and I stopped by to say hi to Young Bob Flynn. And you know, life has the funniest ways of keeping you humble.

We were taking YBF for a stroll outdoors via wheelchair, when she stopped the WSP in the hall and pointed in the general direction of where I was walking.

"Brad, is there a dog right over here?"

Our eyes met --the WPS and I, that is. We smiled and stifled a laugh.

I leaned over and said, "Bobby, it's me, Mary, Brad's wife."

Her eyes widened, and despite her diminished eyesight, she found my hands, enveloped them with hers and gave them a butterfly kiss. Then she laughed. Loose. Carefree.


"Oh. Mary. I know you're not a dog."