If you’re wanting to read about Zumba, you’ll have to come back tomorrow.  Something happened on Saturday that has to go in this slot today.  It’s not just that I donated a pint of my blood, but what happened while I was there.

That was the day of the great cookie exchange.  The gals get together at church in the morning and bake cookies and then swap with one another.  Some of them bring in soup for lunch and Michigan Blood brings out their mobile unit.

Our friend, Shirley, told me earlier that she would be bringing beef and barley soup and I better show up and have some.  And I did.  After donating blood, I went inside and had some of Shirley’s magnificent soup.  Sylvia was behind me in the mobile unit and she hadn’t come in when I had finished my lunch.

I went out to check on her.  That’s when the fun began.  A young lad had come in with his dad.  While I was donating we were winking and grinning and making faces at each other.  When I went back in, he was sitting right beside where I stood.  We talked a bit.  He asked me why my hands shook so much.  I said, “That’s because I’m an old man.”  He responded, “Why?”  How do you answer that question?

Time to change the subject.  “How old are you?” I asked.  He said, “Five.”  Ellen, our pastor’s wife, asked if he was in kindergarten.  He is.  She then said, “I used to teach kindergarten.”  He wasn’t sure how to respond.

So I asked him, “How long have you been five?”  He thought for a couple of moments and then replied, “For about seven years now.”

How do you top that?  I can’t and won’t try.  I should have done it his way.