I’m leaving work early today to go to one of a long line of scholarship receptions for Dr. Boyfriend. Because even though the law firm where he’s a patent agent is paying for him to go to law school, he’s a genius and can’t avoid getting money thrown at him.
For some reason, I get all excited about these receptions. I just think it’s so neat that he works full-time and somehow still manages to be at the top of his class (mostly by staying home and reading cases when he should be taking his lady out dancing) that I feel sort of like a proud mother when the invitations come in the mail. I think about how the dean of the school will fawn over him, and how I’ll embarrass myself trying to make everyone laugh, and how we’ll fill up on cured meats and cookies.
But what I never remember is that by the end of them, this always happens: