You’ll be sorry for this. I promise you Maggie.
Maybe, she said. But you need to meet people. Socialize. Converse.
I thought that’s what suicide hotlines were for.
You’re a hoot, Maggie said. A real yuk-yuk machine. Look, it’s only one dinner. Besides, Ernie’s nice.
Ernie. I shuddered. Most people, I guess, think of Ernie and Bert. But I’m a big Who fan so I think of “Tommy” and his slimy, lecherous uncle, Ernie.
I said to myself, I’ll do it for Maggie. But as soon as I can, I’m aborting this mission. Amscraying. Vamoosing. I’m drowning this kitten.
That night, I met Ernie at L’Aubergine. We sat in a booth, I tore breadsticks apart. Made little animals, monkeys, giraffes.
So, Ernie said. Maggie tells me you live with your parents.
Yes, I replied. I take care of my folks. Feed ‘em sometimes. Hose down their cages.
He let that pass.
They’re elderly, I guess.
Not really, I said. Fifty-eight. Fifty-nine.
Ernie pretended to study the menu. I started humming an old Who song. I was building a Stonehenge with wrapped pats of butter when Ernie looked up and said, now I’m a farmer.
I couldn’t believe it. Excuse me? I said.
The song you’re humming. “Now I’m a Farmer”. The Who’s “Odds and Sods” album. Studio out takes, ‘74.
Easy there, girl, I told myself. Could be a fluke. I decided to test him.
“Pictures of Lily”. What album was it on.
“Meaty Beaty Big and Bouncy.”
“Live at Leeds”. Eddie Cochran song.
Without missing a beat, he said “Summertime Blues.”
I thought for a moment. Looked him square in the eye.
What was the B-side of “I Can’t Explain.”
Like a shot came the answer “Bald Headed Woman.”
Maggie was right. He was a nice guy. And a real Who fan, I was totally smitten.
Sadly though, there’s no second chance for a first impression. Ernie took me home, shook my hand at the door. About twenty minutes later, I heard the phone ring.
Through her teeth, Maggie said, you were right. I am sorry.
I told ya so, Mags.
You’re an idiot, she said.
I know, Maggie. I know.