I went to the Braves game with these two, Sarah and Fr. Kyle, which means a little bit of baseball, and a lot of talking and cutting up. The game was incidental, in spite of the friendly rivalry between the Braves fans, Sarah and me — and Fr Kyle in his Cincinnati Reds get-up. I tweeted Braves vs. Cubs for about 4 innings. He didn’t notice. I didn’t notice.
It was definitely a social evening spiced up by the occasional exciting play. I guess baseball goes that way. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Double! Nothing. Home run! Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Double play! Nothing.
And then the ride home.
I was sprawled in the back seat, listening to their chatter up front when I recognized the vanity plate on the car next to us. “Roll down the window!”
Sarah refused, thinking I was engaging with a stranger. Just two days ago I shocked her by asking the guy in front of us in the ice cream line if I could take his picture. It was true, he was a doppleganger for a mutual friend of ours, but mostly, I was doing it because she was mortified. I get it — she was done with my shenanigans.
This guy driving the car is a former colleague. Really. I convinced her to roll down the window in time for me to call his name.
He turned around, processed who I was, and shouted back happily, “My mom read your book!”
Full disclosure: as an author, it’s both gratifying and humbling when people read your book. Some people like it and tell you. Some don’t like it, and aren’t shy about telling you. LOL. That second one. It keeps me humble.
But there’s nothing like friends to keep you humble. The evening started with a crack about my mom pants. And it ended with a crack about writing books for moms. True on both counts. I love my friends, y’all. I really do.