Guy calls me today while I'm on the way out. I'm trying to have a vacation day and I'm abjectly failing. Carol's out of town, and I'm working when I'm supposed not to be. So Joe and I are getting geared up to go to Godiva. (Check the date, Nate.)
And so this guy calls me, and he's definitely got that Euro accent thing going, and he's not on my official schedule but he's definitely legit, a client. And I say, try the cell, because I'm headed out, and here's the number. And he calls me on the cell, but he can't hear me, because I'm at the Fedex box outside the post office (!) and the wind is blowing. So he calls back 10 minutes later, and I warn him: I have a kid in the back who is about 3. And he warns me -- he has a kid in his car who is 2. And he's in Amsterdam, which last I heard was on a pretty different continent.
So here we are, two dads in 2004, talking to each other from our cars across the Atlantic ocean, kids in the back seat, talking about Things That Matter. Good, bad, indifferent? What it is. What it shall be.