BIGGEE size that, please.

The Tall One to Whom I am Married is a smart guy. One of the smartest people I know. Because he just KNOWS stuff. All kinds of stuff. I mean, right now he's in the back yard in his boots and shorts, and this time he wore a shirt, because he knows NOT doing so would be a FASHION faux pas. He knows better ... today. (But not always. Anyhoo ...)
But, he's putting new siding on the house and he's deconstructed a deck and is reconstructing a patio and he wires and he plumbs and he gives home fashion advice that makes me SMACK myself upside the melon and say, DANG IT, yer right! A Renaissance man, if you will. In shorts and boots.
So, last night, after a SATURDAY. AT. THE. MALL. with The Short One who scored new school shoes and every. loose. straight. pin. on the floor of the mens/childrens Dillards which he called needles and wanted to put in his "pocket for later" (OUCH), we went to an Italian joint for dinner.
I escaped shortly after being seated to flush and wash, and when I returned our waitress was taking our drink order.
"OK, um, so like, that's a root beer for the little guy. A 10 oz. for you. And a 6 oz. for your wife."
"Huh?" I said slinging water off my hands and smoothing myself to sit.
"Are you ordering MARGARITAS?? In an Italian joint?" I asked.
"No, just wine," said The Tall One.
"And there's A LARGE?" I queried loudly.
And then I think I said, "Shut UP!" As in "WHAT???"
And then, "You ordered me the SMALL??"
And then, "WHAT ARE YOU THINKIN'?"
And then, "Nobody puts Baby in the cor ..." I mean, "Don't EVER order me the SMALL wine!"
(When you spend a day at the mall w/ a bunch of teens, you start talking like one.)
He's smart, but those folks at that Italian joint are BRILLIANT!
A LARGE wine! Brilliant!!

***

It took me a few days to realize there was even a Tour de France going on. I had settled for reading about Lance in the pages of Architectural Digest instead of Velo News, but The Tall One was in it from the beginning. And now we get whatever TV station carries the Tour and NOW he watches it every night and NOW it's kind of a close race without Lance and NOW those other riders STILL think they can get by w/ performance enhancing drugs and NOW it's over and I miss Lance.

But, this morning, The Tall One was reading the paper and talking about Sastre and Spain and how he'd won and then I heard him quietly mutter, "Champs. EEE-Leese, how do you say? Chaunce elllll .... eeee ..."
And he was talking about the symbolic ride into Paris and I knew what he meant, but somehow READING it and SAYING it are two different things and I, too, struggled w/ pronouncing Champs Elysees ... and when I finally did, The Tall One said, "It's a good thing we aren't French or we wouldn't be able to pronounce ANYTHING!"

Did I TELL you he was smart?

Oh, look. He's taken off his shirt.