J. Rusolo Ward

“Profundity?  That’s a big word,” John smirked.

Sofia’s hackles went up. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.”

“Is it because I’m a woman?”

“Don’t be silly.”

“Is it because I’m from Brooklyn – and not the trendy, hipster Brooklyn?”

He shook his head.

“It’s because my dad was a construction worker.”

“This is getting out of hand.”

“Is it?  Why can’t I use words like ‘profundity’.”

“It sounds like a word Nero Wolfe would use.  Or one of the many vocabulary words you’re forced to learn for a standardized test, but never actually use in a sentence.”

“I went to an excellent college.”  Better than the one he went to, in fact, but she refrained from saying so, determined to take the high ground.

“That’s true.”

“I have an excellent job.  I was the youngest Vice President in my department.”

“You don’t have to prove yourself to me. I love you.”

“Do you?

He frowned at her.

She pouted.  “I know, but you can be condescending.”

“I’m sorry.  I don’t mean to be. You’re adorable, and intelligent – smarter than I am.  I wouldn’t have married you if you were just another pretty face.”

She felt somewhat mollified by his words, and smiled.  “I love you, too, John Green.”

He took her hand and they remained in companionable silence.

After a few minutes, they heard sirens approaching.

“So, are you going to tell me how you got your head stuck in the bannister before the Fire Department arrives?”

“Nope.”

“You’ll have to tell them.”

“I don’t think so.”  Sofia bit her lower lip.  In her sweetest voice, she said, “My love, about those pictures you took when you found me, I’m going to need you to delete them.”

“Never!  You already have a thousand likes on Instagram.  You’re going viral, baby.”

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