Breakfast with Bill
Now stop that. I can hear you slapping your forehead. I know what you are thinking.
I can’t believe he’s going to expose his own pastor to ridicule like he did Alicia and her going through that non-existent door Sunday! Is he nuts, or what?
Well, yes I am nuts, but so are you. So let’s at least try to work with what we got here. Or go write about your crazy Uncle Ned the family wants you to keep mum about, while I tell my story.
Bill is sharp. I like Bill. Then he ups and gives this sermon Sunday morning, while I sat in the second row filled with my anger over the door and my wife’s incident and my son David and all of that, but still I listened to what he had to say.
Now I get up after the sermon he gave, and I got me some questions. Bill does that; he makes me think. But I see he has a lot of hands to shake, plus we (the church-we) got bigger problems than the ones rolling around in my head, so I shook his first. Then I impulsively invited him out to join me for breakfast one day soon. He and I can hash all this out, says I. Fine, he says, and his eyes lit up. Let’s do it this Tuesday, he adds. Sure, what time? Ten’s good for me -- what about you? Well, that settled that.
So I go home. We go home. No, I drive my family home. You’d think after as long as I have sat here in front of this screen that I could compose a sentence right the first time, but I can’t. And my delete key is broke. I broke it. Never mind. Let me continue before I forget what it was I was trying to say.
Growing old is fun. Believe me, it is. I stopped telling lies a few years ago. It’s so much more fun to tell the truth, especially when creditors call. Hey, I forgot, I tell them. And I ain’t lying, and they can discern the truth right away, somehow.
So we get home and she is aching all over while I am just fine, so I wrote about the whole deal. Well, that got her nose out of joint too. Talk about me online and let all your friends laugh at me? What kind of deal is all that? I told her, hey, I don’t have that many friends on-line. Most of the old ones either died, or they are off on the telephone, on hold, probably. I should know what they are doing. They are trying to get through to Homeland Security and report me as a loon. Give me a break, woman.
She isn’t a violent person, so she went to take a nap and stay out of my way.
Now Tuesday morn, the house is quiet after everyone leaves for school, and I am bloggity-blogging away when the phone rings. Man, I forgot. Bill is coming over. Hey, he says. How do I get there? I can’t lie, so I tell him. He threatens to be here in an hour so I hung up and started typing faster, which lead to more mistakes and…well, now you see how I broke the darn key?
Nine-fifty I jump in the shower. I can say jumped in, although I stepped in there carefully. That sort of lie is allowed, so I understand.
He got here a little late, which allowed me time to get the kitchen clean. Cleaner than it was, that is. It’s seldom that clean. I left just enough stuff laying around to make a fair impression, I suppose, but Martha Stewart best not ever set foot in my house.
Bill arrives, and either his nose is stopped up, or either he is just too kind or he is flat wore-out from the long drive…because he never once mentioned he could smell burning grits. I opt for the nose excuse, personally. Generally Bill says what he thinks, and he is a most energetic fellow.
And happy day! He likes grits. Now that is one smart man, I got to say. So we ate and we talked and we got the majority of the world’s problems about half-solved. It went pretty good.
Now I am wondering if I even had a point to all this. I can’t think of one here to save my life, except to say I am sorry for ruining anyone’s reputation, if I did.
I have to add that in case I ever did such a thing, and forgot.