Old Men

I need to tell you guys about "The List." Matt's got a group of friends from college- they were all in the same fraternity, and they email back and forth every day. They call this mass of emails "The List." When all of us starting having kids, they named the kids "Listkinder" and Annie and Lucy both have a onesie with Listkinder printed on it. (Each kid gets a Listkinder number, so I think my offspring are respectively, Listkinder III, and Listkinder VI). The List has been a continual source of entertainment over the years- Matt has shared numerous emails (usually involving poop, or trying to pick up women) that have left us doubled over in List laughter. Until now.

Yesterday, on our way to dinner, Matt was chuckling hysterically, literally drowning his i-phone with happy tears. Expecting to hear a great story, I asked him what was going on with the List. Apparently, someone recommended a certain kind of oatmeal- Coach's oatmeal, to be exact. Numerous other list members then went to the website and ordered some. Matt received his free sample of Coach's oats yesterday, and couldn't wait to try them for breakfast. The reason for the laughter? Another list member did not order a free sample, he ordered FOUR bags- four huge, gigantic bags of steel cut oats that will carry him through the next nuclear war.

Now, this is amusing, but also sad. This is a group of guys--- some of the funniest, most hilarious guys you would ever come across. (Remind me to tell you the story of Doogles, and the drunken Junior League party in NYC). That they have now been reduced to not only talking about oatmeal, but becoming OBSESSED witih oatmeal, makes me kind of sad. Matt is so excited about his oatmeal, he wants to eat oatmeal for breakfast every day. I think I'm going to get him a gift certificate for a prostate exam and put it in his Christmas Stocking.