Wrong Playdate

I love my husband but he does not have an eye for details. He once wore a mismatched pair of flips flops for three weeks – one of the flip flops wasn’t even his and it was two sizes too small. For three weeks! I don’t get it. That would have caught my attention the minute I started walking. That story is almost eight years old and it still blows my mind.

This trait is hereditary. Jason gets it from his father, Norman. Another brilliant man. A successful dentist. But not much for noticing his surroundings. For example, while staying at a hotel years ago, he lost his room key. He went to the front desk and requested the key for Room 402. (Backstory – my mother-in-law was lounging by the pool and Norman was in desperate need of a private toilet.) So he rushed to his room and straight for the bathroom with a newspaper under his arm. Afterwards, he decided to lie in bed and watch the news for a bit. That’s when his eyes started to wander. He thought, “Hmmm, that’s not my suitcase. And whose computer is that? Did Nancy’s feet grow? Those don’t look like her shoes. Shit. This is not my room.” So back to the front desk he went, leaving behind a special scent and a trail of the NYTimes Sports Section for the occupants of Room 402.

Which brings me to Grady. He is carrying on the Levine tradition of Attention Deficit Disorder bliss.

Last Sunday, Grady had a playdate at his friend Trajan’s house. Trajan lives in complex with lots of identical buildings that each have four or five units. I couldn’t quite remember which building was his but I knew it would come back to me. So I parked in front of the first building we came to and started gathering my things. Grady jumped out of the car and took off running.

I was only 15 seconds behind him but that was long enough for Grady to barge into an old woman’s condo and start his playdate.

Did he notice he wasn’t at Trajan’s house? No. Did he consider that wasn’t Trajan’s mom wearing a floral housecoat and slippers, sucking on caramels and watching The Wheel of Fortune? No. Did it occur to him that there were no toys or games or Trajans in this house? No siree, Bob. As far as Grady was concerned, the playdate was in full effect.

Needless to say, grandma almost choked on her suckers when a 7-year-old boy came charging through her living room screaming, “I’m here!!!”

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