Before the Carlisle cross-country race on Saturday, it was quite a task to locate the Young Relative and his father amidst hundreds of leggy youths, many sporting gold jerseys and headbands, and athletic-looking fathers, many sporting sunglasses and baseball caps.
"Oh, look!" I'd say to the Dearest Partner, pointing to a likely candidate. "There he is!"
Then we'd get closer, and of course I was wrong. I came really close to hugging one middle-aged guy I thought was my brother.
My repeated errors greatly amused the Dearest Partner. The next day, when we were driving through Wilmington, I saw an odd sight on the sidewalk.
"That man," I said, "is carrying a cat in a milk crate."
"Are you sure it's not a dog?" asked the D. P.
"No, it's definitely a cat!"
"Are you sure it's not your brother?"
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