~Phone rings~
Youngest daughter on other end...
"Mom, are you at your computer? We're at a restaurant, would you look up something for us? This is really bothering us..."
"Sure, what is it?" I ask, as I sit down to fire up the browser.
"Who wrote Hungarian Rhapsody?" she asks.
"Rachmaninoff." I answer, confidently. No need to Google that.
"No, no... that's what your perfect son-in-law thinks." [So, what more proof do you want? Your husband and your mother, both couldn't be wrong could they?] "It starts with an "S", the composer's name, but I can't think of it right now."
"Shostakovich?" I ask.
"Yes! that's it!" I hear her convey this info to her husband, as confident in Shostakovich as I am in Rachmaninoff.
By that time, this Google page is staring at me.
