The Ecb
I’m Face-Timing with my Grandmère, we touch-base once a week. I love that face, wrinkled, like wind-weathered driftwood, and she’s a wag. “Are you familiar with the ECB?” She asks.
I wince at this odd turn in conversation, “Not REALLY,” I say, searching my mental index of useless facts and cross-matching those with her interests, “the European Central Bank?” I reply. “Oui.” she says.
“Let’s see,” I begin in a bored voice, “Inflation – transitory or persistent?” I say, in my best TV news-reader voice. “No,” I chuckle, “Not really, I have REAL, boring-things I’m learning about.”
“You’ll need to - one day,” she says, like a tarot reading oracle.
“I can’t imagine why.” I said. “I’m writing a few sentences about you!” I interject, to both change the subject and see what she says. She’s the only one in the family who knows I write.
“Oh,” she sighs, “Am I young, immoral and reckless?”
“Yes, you ARE,” I assure her, “you’re the worst.”
“Good," she confides, “I miss those days.”
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Marriam Webster: a wag is a clever person prone to joking
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