Today at dinner, I made a silly joke, much to Rob's apparent surprise. I asked him what was so astonishing about the fact that I had a sense of humor. After all, I make my other friends laugh all the time. "I don't know," he said, "I guess you usually hide your light under a bushel." I did not know to what he could be referring, and he also claimed ignorance as to what he meant when I pressed him on it.

I suppose it is possible that my Vulcan-like detachment often overshadows my more amusing facets; it is also possible (and infinitely more likely) that a certain other person's compulsion to be the gregarious center of attention has habitually outdone my own, quieter wit.

The joke I told was that, if there were an Ohio-to-Florida highway, it would be called the "Oh-Flyway."

I have a million of them.