Mississippi Dots

I was minding my own business this morning in the bathroom. (Yes, I know, the place where one generally would mind her own business. Tee-hee.) Something made me think of the Bar/Bri class I took in DC all those many years ago. And by many, I mean five.

That does seem like many years ago.

I wasn't enrolled in the same bar review class as some of my classmates, although some people from my alma mater were taking the class in the same location as me. Mine was popular enough to have a morning, afternoon, and evening class. I am an afternoon person, and at that point, I was unemployed, so everything came up Milhaus and I took that class.

I met a young lady named Caitlin, and we bonded over being from the south and not being entirely sure what we were doing in DC. Her husband, if memory serves, had a job up there, and I had a wild hair that would not allow me to return to Alabama. So we shared accents and anecdotes and the occasional lust for sweet tea, and we would play games during the more tedious videos.

I taught her about the dot game. She had never heard of the dot game, which to me was just about the horrifying news I'd ever heard. No dot game? How did you manage sitting through church? Hangman's tough to hide after a while, you know. But I laid out the game and taught her the basics and it only took two games before she was routinely kicking my behind.

I was proud of my little protege, and I wonder where she is now, and I hope she's happy.

Caitlin, just in case you forgot, this one's for you: