R.O.W.D.I.E.

The other morning when our wakeup alarm went off, Calvin said to me, “I just remembered a cheer from high school.” I said, “I don’t want to hear it.” Of course, Cal sang it to me (not something that’s especially pleasant at 7 am). Here it is: “R. O. W. D. I. E. That’s the way we spell rowdie. Let’s get rowdie, rowdie.” I said, “You do realize that’s spelled incorrectly, right?” A second of silence passed. “Maybe they did that on purpose.” I pulled the covers up. “And maybe their spelling is horrendous. Otherwise, they just misspelled it because it fit better with the rhythm, which is also dumb. Either way, it's lame. And it’s way too early in the morning for something like that.”

Guess you can tell I wasn’t a cheerleader in high school, huh? And that I’m not a “morning person.” My sense of humor develops only after the first hot influx of caffeine.