The neighbor children have taken to calling my husband Justin Timberlake. And no, we don't know why.
It all started when the man returned from another night at the gym. I was sitting in the living room when I heard scrambling up the complex stairs and little voices ringing in the walkway. Then the door started to open. "Drat," I thought. "How did they manage to do that?"
But in walked my husband, bewildered yet smiling. "Goodnight Justin!" one girl says adoringly. I'm a little confused myself. "What the..." "Oh ya, the neighbor kids are calling me Justin Timberlake," he says ho-humedly. "OK, start from the beginning."
I expected a little explanation here, but there wasn't much of one. The minute he got out of our car and started up the sidewalk, two or three of these kids trolled around him, asking him all sort of questions about being a celebrity and whether he has a girlfriend, etc. etc.
I cannot imagine what's got into their little heads -- either it's an elaborate, nonsensical joke or the little girls think this is a good way to express their crush on my husband (who is handsome, by the way, but not a ringer for Timberlake). Then again, if he's Justin, does that make me Cameron Diaz? I suppose I can live with the fans a little longer.
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1 comment:
Yes. Because I used to own you. Now I don't.
This is such an awesome story, mostly because it's about J, of all people!! All I can think is that Timberlake was the object of discussion and J was the right guy at the right time. It doesn't seem completely far-fetched from something I would have done as a little girl. Or last year.
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