Ye olde cluelessness
So I was reminded a few weeks ago that I might not be totally in touch with society anymore.
Our friend Keith, with whom I collaborated on the creation of this site, called me to chat about a project we're working on together, and he mentioned that he was just arriving at Renaissance Weekend. He asked if my husband and I might be able to join him one year. I responded enthusiastically, saying, "Forsooth! I shall buye passage on a skye shippe and we shall drinke alee," and told him that I know where I could get the perfect costume. After a long, awkward silence he changed the subject back to business.
Undeterred, I shared this invitation along with some of my ye olde hilarity with my husband when he got home. He politely informed me that I was speaking Middle English (or attempting to, anyway), which was not spoken during the Renaissance. Also, Keith had invited us to Renaissance Weekend, an invitation-only global strategy retreat for leaders in business and politics. I was thinking of the Renaissance Festival, where people dress up like pirates and wenches and eat funnel cake.
That would explain the awkward silence.
So I guess all those years of not keeping up with politics or the news or paying much attention to that mystery-land known as "the world outside of my neighborhood" finally caught up with me.
Our friend Keith, with whom I collaborated on the creation of this site, called me to chat about a project we're working on together, and he mentioned that he was just arriving at Renaissance Weekend. He asked if my husband and I might be able to join him one year. I responded enthusiastically, saying, "Forsooth! I shall buye passage on a skye shippe and we shall drinke alee," and told him that I know where I could get the perfect costume. After a long, awkward silence he changed the subject back to business.
Undeterred, I shared this invitation along with some of my ye olde hilarity with my husband when he got home. He politely informed me that I was speaking Middle English (or attempting to, anyway), which was not spoken during the Renaissance. Also, Keith had invited us to Renaissance Weekend, an invitation-only global strategy retreat for leaders in business and politics. I was thinking of the Renaissance Festival, where people dress up like pirates and wenches and eat funnel cake.
That would explain the awkward silence.
So I guess all those years of not keeping up with politics or the news or paying much attention to that mystery-land known as "the world outside of my neighborhood" finally caught up with me.
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