You Say Potato

"Happy Twenty-Ten!" my father said just after midnight.

I’d had a few drinks, or I wouldn’t have bothered. If I’d been sober I’d have been smart enough to know it was useless. But…

"It’s NOT Twenty-Ten," I corrected, trying to sound serious "It’s Two thousand Ten… just like last year was Two Thousand Nine."

"That’s right," he agreed, stubbornly triumphant. "Last year was Twenty-Oh-Nine, so this year is Twenty-Ten."

I sighed, finally remembering what these discussions were like.

"Don’t you remember that song from when you were little?" he asked, a chuckle in his voice. "’In the Year Twenty-Five, Twenty-Five?’"