My Man, In Miniature

My husband is a delight in a social situation. He is keenly observant and takes it all in. He has on ongoing patter (whispered in my ear) that is so devastatingly on target that it makes me giggle wherever I am, and he takes away snippets of conversation that are better than the best gossip column.

When I was a reporter I would take him to events and set him free and he would come back with some of the best anecdotes of the evening.

Last night I went to an art show/cocktail party by one of my favorite friends. We know her art, we own her art, we will buy more of her art, but we were there to support, to love. I dragged my boys to this fashionable gathering, because it was the only way I could go. So there we were, squished into a tiny boutique on Melrose, me, and my two boys.

I stationed them at the counter with a brownie, told them not to knock over any mannequins, and set off to air kiss, meet and greet, and congratulate my friend.

Fifteen minutes later we were out the door. A platter had crashed to the floor near the expensive clothing on the way out, but it wasn't my well-behaved boys, it was a Dad! Bad Dad!

We walked out the door and I asked the boys what they thought. (They love the artist.)

"Well, there wasn't very much art for an art show," said Benji. "I thought there would be more art."

So Jonathan. Cutting to the chase. The truth in one devastating sentence.

"The woman who owned the store said she had never had so many people in her store in her whole life," said Theo.

The snoop and the truth-teller. My husband, divided in two, genetically spread out over my two boys.

I told Jonathan he doesn't even need to come any more. I have him beside me, in the form of Theo and Benji.

But of course, I do. I love the original.

And the little ones delight me as much as the Big One.

My Boys.