Baleen and I should now be on the final leg of our journey from San Francisco to Boston, with a two day stop, then Munich for ninety minutes, too short for either a beer or a bratwurst or even a walk to our next gate, then the Athens airport for a few hours before our final flight to Santorini, or Thira as the Greek ferry companies unhelpfully call it. If Baleen slept on the flight from Boston, then I might have slept, too, but if she didn't, or if the movies weren't any good, then I entertained her.
That sometimes means debating baby names or wondering where we'll live in ten years and when we'll buy our first house, how much that house will be and if it'll be made out of brick, wood, or something else, but what it most likely means is Hangman, played in the margins of whatever I'm trying to read or on the back of boarding tickets.
Baleen's win ratio, measured by the number of missed letters at the end of each game, is north of 75%. Each win is followed by enough discussion and back handed compliments, "For somebody who reads so much..." to make me want to look up seven letter words with just one vowel so she can't toot her own horn as she did on our last flight, an almost four hour pleasure cruise on a small United plane without any TVs.
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