The Weekday One Hundred

I leaned back into my auditorium seat.

My wife was going to win the quality musical instrument argument, and rightfully so, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t savor this little victory.

Against all odds, I had saved the day. I had located and delivered a recorder for my son – the proverbial rabbit out of a hat – and did it with time to spare.

I folded my hands in my lap and smiled. I was now prepared for whatever bastardized version of whatever Christmas classic those little amateur musicians could throw my way.

I was quite certain I had earned it.