What?

Sam keeps commenting on my writer's mind and his computer mind. He says my fictional brain screws with the meaning of things far too much for his analytical brain. 

We have to continually be careful not to miss each other's meaning. Actually, that translates as I can screw with his thought processes so that he misses my meaning.

He's gorgeous though. He just gives me that look, that half smile, those eyes and I say, "What?" Mock-grimace, hands in the air. And then his face breaks into a full smile and he shakes his head.

"I can re-phrase?" I offer.

"No. You don't need to. You are funny."

“One day you’ll learn that life isn’t all iphones and ipads, you know.”

“And one day you’ll learn that it is.”

Then we both laugh.

It's funny the things people think about you, hey? I mean, I work with figures all day, so, I mean, how esoteric can I really be? Huh? I mean to say?

I mean, one of the most "Ah!" moments of my life came only a few years ago when I met a new guy. I was talking about how I like to write, but when he found out what I did for a living he declared, laughing, I might add shrilly, You're not a writer, you are an accountant. Ah! Suffice to say, he didn't make it passed the second date.

I didn't like to be rude and say to Sam, No buddy, it's your computer nerd brain that you are highlighting here, not my avantgarde way of expressing myself. Maybe, I should start using parchment and blood ink, delivering messages by pigeon, rather than texting? Or maybe, I should talk in Elizabethan English?