Post, Doc

I was inside Husky Stadium today, returning my wife’s cap, hood, and gown, so that the University of Washington wouldn’t charge her any more than the minimum $100 rental fee. She graduated with a doctorate that took eight years to earn, an accomplishment in which I naturally take a deal of pride. Next, she’s on to her postdoc. And so, as I signed the ledger for the return that some silly, barely pubescent undergrad presented me, I told him, “Yes, she’s a PhD,” and the words rang out with smug superiority under those cavernous bleachers. Then, turning, I stepped face-first into a pole! One of those enormous steel I-beams. And down to the ground I went! Oh, I  got up quickly enough, brushed myself off, and answered that, yes, yes, I was certainly fine, and even ran back to the car to show what a hurry I was in and show how spry I was. And I suppose there’s a moral there about pride and condescension, but my head is still spinning, so I can’t quite think of it right now. I’ll lie down and see if it hits me.

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