If It's Happened Before...

Well, it's happened again. That is the story of last night's fun at the Poling household. Let me explain. No, there is too much. Let me sum up. (That little bit courtesy of The Princess Bride and Westley's birthday today!)

But, really, let me explain.

Last evening, I heard the pooches barking like lunatics, which is really nothing new. Except then I saw headlights in the driveway and realized that the commotion actually seemed to be warranted, as opposed to the usual howling at nothing. So, as you do, I answered the door.

On the front porch stood a nice-looking fellow, whom I greeted amidst reassurances that the canine calvary was intended not to bite but only to lick him him half to death. After he saw that I was right, he proceeded to ask me, "Is your dad the dentist?"

Now, this is hardly the first time this has happened - it just hasn't happened in a while, so I was a little out of practice in my response. Usually, I let it go with no correction. since it only proves awkward to set it straight. But, last night, I blurted out, "Not my dad. My husband."

Later, I told ol' Scotty P. about it and we had a laugh. Now, that part is new and unusual. Because in the past, he has found this whole confusion less than humorous. As an ode to those bygones, I reminded him of the more hysterical temper tantrums he has thrown after said mistaken identity. I now share these fine moments with you.

**When we still lived in good old Morgantown, WV, we were shopping at a department store in the mall. Ol' Scotty P. wandered into the Juniors section, where I diligently searched for the next great outfit to complete my closet. I had already stashed a few gems in the fitting rooms and one of the little helpers asked me if I needed to add anything to pile before I commenced to the trying-on phase. She glanced at Scott and asked if I had to "ask my dad first." I laughed. Ol' Scotty P. did not. He did, in fact, storm out of there in a pretty dramatic fashion. There may or may not have been under-the-breath cussing. Poor guy. He was not yet accustomed to this little fact of life.

**One of the very first things we did when we moved here to North Carolina was set up our gym memberships. We walked into the local recreation center and filled out all the necessary paperwork. I guess the lady wasn't paying attention to my forms because as she handed me my gym ID card, she asked me my age. I  must have looked confused because she asked me again, and then looked at ol' Scotty P. as she explained the gym's policy that minors under the age of 16 need parental supervision to work out. Ol' Scotty P. stammered something inaudible. I corrected the lady. We left out of there in a jiffy.

While there have been so many other instances (the propane gas man who consistently asks if my dad is home, the various patients at the dental office who assume the doctor's faithful daughter has dropped in after school) ol' Scotty P. had learned to take it all in stride. We laugh now. The temper tantrums are over.

But, the memories live on, thank goodness. We all need some good laughs.