Twenty Seven

'So...' I said. (Subtle huh?)

'I should have thought,' said Dad. 'I'd have known I'd be cramping your lifestyle by coming over this early.'

I checked the clock: 8.47am. Damn I was going to be late for work. Any other day and I would be on my way, but no, the day Dad comes over I'm in bed with my best friend's sweet-ride. I wanted to say, 'Yeah Dad, this is a normal day for me.' But I didn't: it might leads to awkwardness, like admitting how long it had been since the last time I got my wick wet. Even without manifesting it with a smart-ass comment, the awkwardness got us.

Lisa stared at us, maybe trying to work out the dynamic we had going on.

I couldn't help but grin, now I knew she looked just as good without the t-shirt. I was amazed I even thought of work. When the hell did I get conscientious? If ever there was a day to call in sick, this was it - or it would be if I could get rid of Dad before Lisa realised that last night was a mistake.

[Bridget Jones style observation, except accurate, because I'm male, hereafter known as Anti-Britch Observations, or maybe Desism's. I'll decide later.

Anti-Britch Observation / Desism 1: Chicks realise the next morning that whatever they did the night before was a mistake. Guys know it is a mistake before, during and after whatever it is they were doing; they just don't care. This is why guys are cool.]

'Nice shiner,' said Dad.

Lisa filled the kettle. 'Anyone for coffee?'

'Sure,' said Dad.

I shook my head. I don't get the fixation with coffee. You've gotta be a caffeine junky to be cool. Oh I can't start the day without my cuppa, oh I'm a caffeine addict, I take my caffeine intravenously. Whatever. A good pair of hooters is all I need to jumpstart my morning.

After I got over my private coffee rant it occurred to me that Lisa handled Dad well. I would have said something direct, but she just deflected him. I'd have to remember that. Though I doubt my leaning over the bench would be as captivating.

Twenty Eight