I Grinned The Grin Of The Seriously Flawed

*** continued from previous post ***

Julie's eyes first went wide with surprise, then narrowed into confusion. It was a short trip. Her face scrunched so hard that if you'd have held an orange to her eye-sockets OJ would have poured down her nose.

She looked from me to the Beemers, then back to me. "I'm sorry," she stammered, "I didn't mean anything. I just meant. . . I mean Leeza said . . . "

She looked around the table for allies, for confirmation that this situation had taken a weird turn. Wisely, no one was offering her anything in the way of support. Too dangerous to commit to any one person this early in the evening. What if they backed the wrong horse? That's a social risk few will take. Who said our forefathers learned nothing from Guy Fawkes and the Gunpowder Plot? It's difficult to explain your way out of rebellion. No, best to hang on the periphery and the second that momentum swings to one side or the other offer your support to the one with the numbers. Then claim that you've been with them all along. Much like any session of Congress.

Back to the situation at hand. Your mom however had spent the last 32 years with me, so her instincts as to where the conversation was headed were a tad sharper than our dinner partners'. She kicked my shin under the table. Hard. Good thing I was wearing my boots, that kick could have drawn blood.

"Don't pay any attention to him," she said looking at me, "he has a weird sense of humor."
I nodded in idiotic agreement.

"To answer your question, yes - we did ride a bike up here."

Mom studied Julie's face for some hint of relaxation. Finding none, she added "Did I mention he has a weird sense of humor?" She looked back to me, "And he's harmless?"

"Mostly," I corrected her.

Julie looked at your mom, then at me, then at the group, then back to me. I had rattled the poor dear. More than I had anticipated. I had to fix it before debilitating embarrassment set in. Never embarrass someone in front of a group unless you're looking to make an enemy.

But you're my daughter. Bursting with inappropriateness of your own. I'm sure you've discovered this by now.

"It's true," I said smiling. "You really can't take anything I say too seriously." I paused, thinking about what I'd just said. "Even that statement needs to be taken with a grain of salt. Probably. Mostly." I grinned the grin of the seriously flawed. "I blame it on a public school education I received in THE STATES."

I turned to the gentleman on my right, the man from Denmark. "Or possibly I shouldn't have drunk copious amounts of cough syrup in my youth. The jury is still out."

"Dat vould do it," he said nodding his head in the affirmative.

Damn, he looked familiar. For that matter so did his wife. I scoured my memory. Had I ever been to Denmark? I didn't think so, but there are several periods in my life I can't account for, so who knows? I did have that bizarre affection for all things Hans Christian Anderson-y. The pieces were all adding up. I'd have to check with your Mother later. She'd know.



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