Duh Hubby was checking in with me after his plane landed the other day. Flight was good, he said, although he spent the next five minutes telling me that he hadn’t eaten in hours and would be starving when he got home in a couple of hours.
While he talked, I walked into the kitchen and pulled a Trader Joe’s lasagna out of the freezer, preheated the oven to 375 and peeled back two corners just like it says to on the box. Awesome dinner in 75 minutes? Check.
We talked for a few minutes longer. He wanted to know if I had gotten his car inspected. Yes, I had. Also got the tires rotated and the oil changed. Overachieving once again.
He told me his work meeting went well and I read the headlines on the new “Rolling Stone” I just pulled from the mailbox. Well. Not everything he says is interesting all the time. I’m sure he feels the same way about me. Just kidding.
Never miss a local story.
We’d chatted sufficiently (neither of us is big on phone convos) and just as he was hanging up, Duh said, “Oh, almost forgot. I talked to Oprah at the airport today.”
OK. Breathe. Did he just talk for 10 minutes about his workday and oil changes and save MEETING OPRAH for the end? In the newspaper business, we call this “burying the lead.” In real life, we call this “burying Duh.”
Me: “Whaaaaa? THE Oprah? Oprah Winfrey????”
Duh: “Yeah, she was with some woman … Gayle something?”
Me (speaking slowly through clenched teeth): “You mean Gayle King, her longtime BFF. You spoke to them?”
Duh: “Yeah,” I said, “How are you?”
Me: “No you did NOT! What did she say? Did she say something back? You are MAKING THIS UP!” Duh: “She said, “Hey, how are y’all?”
And then she and Gayle and some guy who handled their luggage headed toward her private jet.
Fortunately, Duh was traveling with two women from work. I needed verification and I knew Facebook wouldn’t let me down.
And there it was: His co-worker, Neesha, had ALREADY put a photo of Oprah’s jet on her Facebook. Neesha soooo gets it. When I told him about the picture, Duh said smugly, “She was so shocked she couldn’t even say Oprah’s name. It was like the ancient Hebrews couldn’t say Yahweh. At least I greeted the woman.”
“What did she look like? What was she wearing? Did she smile at you?”
“She looked nice; she smiled. Looked like she’d lost some weight. Hey, I’m getting a headache. I need some crackers or something…”
Grumpy, he added: “Oh, and Neesha said she had Louie Vee-TAWN luggage.”
I hung up and focused on Neesha’s account via Facebook. She mentioned that Duh didn’t even recognize Oprah until she told him who it was.
There were lots of “Ha-ha” graphicons from women for that one.
At home, I peppered Duh with more questions but he was exhausted and just wanted to eat my “wonderful homemade lasagna.”
OK, I guess I’ll keep him.
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