Yesterday, Kent had to work from home for a few hours until the roads were plowed. Listening to him on work calls was a good reminder for me.
Too I easily forget that Kent is people’s boss, and that he daily advises a Fortune 100 company on its most important intellectual property interests. To me, he just seems like this guy who doesn’t know how to use the washing machine or is always asking silly questions like, “If I make Peppers a peanut butter sandwich right now, will he eat it?” (“Use the scientific method and tell me your results.”)
I’m sure he stands in no great awe of me anymore either since he knows I can no more get the printer to take paper from the bottom tray than I can open a jar unaided.
When you first start dating someone, they seem so cool and with it. So smart and savvy. Then when the sheen of carefully constructed self-presentation gives way to the patina of intimacy, you realize they are also this normal person who doesn’t know where we keep the envelopes. And if you still think they’re the coolest person you’ve ever met, you know it’s true love.
Happy Birthday, Kent. I love you. It’s hot how you advise Lockheed Martin. The envelopes are in the computer desk. Second drawer.