Today, for whatever reason, my oldest son decided to take the Szondi personality test, which asks participants to look at a series of faces and pick the most pleasant and unpleasant from the bunch. When it told him he had Schizophrenic tendencies and that he was arrogant, he decided the test was bunk.
So then I decided to take the test, just for giggles. It told me I was merciful, charitable and had a sense of justice. I decided the test was pretty spot on.
So then it occurs to Dylan that maybe he just didn't take the test right, so he retakes it. The second go-round tells him that he's rigid and unfriendly.
By now, my husband is in the game and takes the test himself. It tells him he's cheerful and optimistic, and that he both makes and loses money easily. Pretty accurate.
Highly irritated, Dylan takes the test a third time. Its results nearly send him into madness.
"Well, it finally says I'm a nice guy," he tells me.
"That's great, honey." I guess it's time to stop laughing at my son's expense.
"It also says I'm a cross dresser."
Maybe not. Maybe it's time to giggle so hard my sides hurt.
Rolling hills that had been vibrant green just weeks ago were now muted in tone, as if they were taking a deep breath before bursting into the song of fall.