More haranguing from J's father last night. I hung up mid-harangue (just after the "you're not really Jewish . . . going to a synagogue and reading the Torah, that's not Judaism, that's bullshit" bit--nice, no?), checked my voicemail, and returned The Irishman's call.

Ahhhh, like a cool breeze, that boy. I didn't breathe a word about J's father, figuring there was really no need. It's not so much a problem as a minor wrinkle, just another mildly annoying situation that I can handle with my typical grace and aplomb. (Ahem.) We made plans for dinner and a movie tonight, lalalalalala.

A movie theater and a good-smelling boy with a crisp shirt. Now that's livin'.

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