This weekend friends of ours (since high school) were in town visiting. Yesterday we all decided to go to the local ice cream shop. When I say the local ice cream shop, that's really what I mean. We have Dairy Queen and several other ice cream places in town, but this particular ice cream shop is THE place for ice cream. It's quaint. You walk up to an outside window to order. They only have 3 flavors - chocolate, vanilla, and one that changes weekly. But it is damn good ice cream. (I remember one time being there with my family as a kid, and another family was waiting in line behind us. They told us that they had just moved to the area and asked if there were any other ice cream places around. "Like Baskin Robbins?" one of the kids asked hopefully. Dad told them this was THE place for ice cream, and the entire family looked very disappointed. I hadn't heard of Baskin Robbins at the time, but looking back on it, I figure they must have been loathe to go from 31 flavors to 3. Welcome to Redneck Valley, SUCKERS!)

Anyway, we went to the local ice cream shop, sat down at some tables along the side of the building, and were chatting it up. Our friends were telling us about how while they were in town they kept running into people from high school in the most unexpected places. I then told a story about one day this spring when I ran into a guy from high school. He'd asked me how Rob was and if he was still working for the same company, blah blah blah. Halfway through the conversation he said something that made me realize that he thought the Rob I was married to was Mr. Mojo. And I didn't even bother to correct him. It's a funny misunderstanding if you know us because...well, it just is. Anyway, as you might imagine, in order to tell this story I had to evoke the name of Mr. Mojo at least 8 or 9 times. And because everyone was laughing at the multiple misunderstandings throughout my story, I was talking LOUDLY to be heard over them.

So as I finished the story I looked up to see none other than MR. MOJO heading our way. God, I say his name and he just materializes out of fucking nowhere. How does he do that?!

He had been ordering ice cream, minding his own business, when he heard my voice which was repeatedly saying his name. So of course he had to come over to find out what the hell I was saying about him. And what was I saying about him? Oh, nothing much. Just that some dude out there thinks I'm Mr. Mojo's wife. And I didn't bother to correct him.

Add to that The Email and I must look like a goddamn Mr. Mojo stalker.

Did I mention Google thinks I'm fucking my husband's boss?