I studied the meat on the end of my fork. “Is that what you told Mom?” “No, not right away. She liked me because I was a good dancer.” He took another sip. “And don’t go falling in love with the first girl that you meet. That’d be your brother. Barry would get all excited and marry the first girl who looked his way. That guy doesn’t think.” “Like a chicken with its head cut off,” I blurted. “That’s right,” my father said. “Not thinking, not using his brains. Men who marry the first girl they screw end up getting divorced. Play the field, that’s my advice.” “Did you play the field?” “Oh, boy,” he laughed, “boy, did I.” After we finished dinner, Mandy walked over carrying a tray with mugs and a pitcher of beer. “Everything peachy keen?” she asked. “Yes,” my father said. “Very peachy.” “Can I bring you men some dessert?” “None for me,” my father said, patting his belly. “How ‘bout you, Kirby?” “None for me either.” Mandy walked over to a table of older guys who looked like seniors. They were talking about how their football team could never beat Nebraska and that, if Nebraska beat them again, they’d streak the sidelines at Lincoln. Mandy put the tray down on their table. My father slipped his glasses back on and fingered his sideburns. “You’ll never be given another opportunity to meet so many wholesome girls,” he said. “Dating helps you decide what it is you want in a girl. I dated all the time in Boston before I met your mother.” “Did she date much?” “Oh, she liked this limp wrist from MIT who wanted her to type his thesis. Then there was this Fletcher character who had to sell his blood to take her out. Know what he did during dinner?” “What?” “Sat there nibbling breadsticks while your mother ate her Lobster Thermidor. He said he was too weak to eat, but I know it was because he couldn’t afford two meals.” “He’s a millionaire now.” “Who’s a millionaire?” “Fletcher.” “Come on.” “Don’t you know? He invented polyester.”
26
Wright