Now that my brother is officially attending Harvard for his PHD in Applied Physics (I know. He is the brains and I am the boobs of the family unit) I am officially convinced that uncle David's attendance will guarantee Archer's admission in 2023. Of course, Physics might not be the chosen major. My husband and I are what both sides of our families like to call "creative-types" so perhaps Archer will major in Russian literature or stand-up poetry. Don't laugh. Stand-up poets are hard-core. Have you ever seen DEF Poetry Jam?*
I digress. Harvard. Harvard is for lovers and poopers and now, thanks to Big Dave, descendents of the Woolf pack. Even before my brother had "decided" to accept Harvard's generous offer, he bought Archer a beanie, onesie and socks boasting the Harvard name for all Angelenos to gawk at as we passed on the streets, decked out in maroon.
"How old is your son."
"Why, he'll be five months next week."
"Wow. A prodigy?"
"What is he studying?"
"Everything, actually. My kid is smarter than Jesus**"
Not that education matters. I dropped out of film school on my first day and the husband went to the University of barefeet. Still, secretly (er, not so secretly) I have my fingers crossed. It's only natural. The kid is already good-looking and we all know that intelligence is second to beauty***.
*I will most likely make fun of this countless times in the future.
** This is a good bumper sticker idea.
***this is not a joke. i am being serious.