There are a million things that I like about R. I guess we'll never outgrow each other, and in a way it's something I won't ever understand.I said to him last night, "Let's go to FO!"
His face fell. "Oh, no, I can't have noodle soup, I had it earlier today -- "
I laughed. "Not pho, I meant Father's Office!"
It was all pretty seamless. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the baseball, all the while chatting nonchalantly about things his therapist said, computer programming, and girls professing an interest in football as nothing but utter fraud. I was concerned that there was too much red in my burger. Related to something else, he told me there were certain topics of conversation I should always stay away from, if I know what's good for me.
And then, "I'm learning a lot of things lately. You know, always needing girls, seeking them out because my mother spoiled me too much. That's what my psychologist said. She said I can't move out of a certain age group, that I can't mature. Hey, can we go?"
He was already off his stool. So we abruptly left, in the middle of a discourse about his own intriguing child psychology. He played the best and brightest Weezer that he had. For many years now, music always sounds different in his car. (And there have been several.) Better different, or maybe just loud.
"Ooh ooh," we both sang in "Buddy Holly".
"This song," he then said, "is just like you."
Beverly Hills, that's where I want to be!I wanted to give him a nice, hearty whack, but instead I just crinkled my nose at him.
posted by Lucy Sloan @ 7:11 PM
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