O is for Oops, Opps, Something like that

The summer after sixth grade, I met a boy named Kenneth while we were vacationing for a week in Alabama. (My dad was an engineer and was on "TDY" which meant work for him, fun for us when we got to go along for the ride.) Kenneth was a drummer in his school band, he had a younger sister, his hair was curlier than mine, and he had big brown eyes. That's about all I discovered about him that was important.

We fell in love at the hotel pool. You know how that goes. We talked about everything, including the future; he wanted to be a doctor. I was impressed more with his ambition than his compassion, to be honest. I pictured living the well-to-do life of a doctor's wife where I could spend all day every day at our very own pool. Shallow, I know. (My values, not the pool.)

The week ended, and we parted ways with promises to write. True to his word, he sent me a letter the next week. I was beyond thrilled. On the front of the envelope he messed up the zip code, crossed through it, and wrote "Opps" over it, with the corrected zip.

My older sister razzed me about that something fierce. "He wants to be a doctor, but he can't spell "oops"? Bwahahahahaha!"

To this day, when I say "oops" she says "opps" and we both snort.

My romance with Kenneth lasted until the new school year started. Even though he was a good pen-pal, he just wasn't everything I wanted in a husband.

I wanted ambition. He had it.

I wanted compassion. He had it.

I wanted a good speller.

Opps.



And now, for the funniest video I think I have ever seen on YouTube. Maybe the caller is Kenneth?