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.
Okay. I'll go. But I'm telling ya, Mags. You'll be sorry for this.
Ernie. I cringed. Most people, I guess, think of “Sesame Street.” Ernie, and Bert. But I’m a big Who fan, I have all The Who albums. I think of “Tommy.” I think of the grinning, lecherous slime Uncle Ernie.
I’ll do it for Maggie, I said to myself. But soon as I can, I’m aborting this mission. Amscraying. Vamoosing. I’m drowning this kitten.
That night, Ernie took me to L’Aubergine. I wore my hair in a long ponytail. I thought about wearing Hello Kitty barrettes, shoes with an “L” and a “R” on the toes. Seemed a bit heavy-handed; I decided against it.
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 looked at his watch. He studied the menu. I built a small Stonehenge from wrapped pats of butter. I was absent-mindedly humming an old Who song, ready for this farce of a date to be over, when Ernie looked up and said, now I’m a farmer.
I couldn't believe it. I said, what did you say?
The song you’re humming. It’s called “Now I’m a Farmer”. On the “Odds and Sods” album. From ‘74.
Easy there, girl, I told myself. Could be a fluke. I decided to test him.
“Pictures of Lily.”
“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”?
Ernie stifled a grin and said “Bald Headed Woman.”
Maggie was right. He was a nice guy. And a real Who fan, I was totally smitten. I have never wanted to have children, ever. But I would’ve had Ernie’s. Sold ‘em for medical experiments later, but I’d have them.
Alas, though, it’s true, there is no second chance for a first impression. Ernie took me home. Shook my hand at the door. I heard my phone ring about twenty minutes later.
You were right. I am sorry.
I told you so, Mags.
You’re an idiot, she said.
I know, Maggie. I know.