One of the reasons the good Doctor and I hang out together is because we are compatible. He has a well nourished ego, and I have a sharp tongue. When I’m with him, I can keep it honed while keeping his ego cut down to size. I'm also frequently available "On-the-spur-of-the-Moment" to keep him company when he hasn't planned ahead. It’s the perfect setup.
Tonight he calls – at 7:30. “You already cooking dinner?”
“Nope, not tonight. Just relaxing and enjoying a glass of wine.”
“Meet me at Whole Paychecks for dinner. I’ll buy and tell you what’s going on in my life,” he bribes me.
After we fill our plates and get settled, the conversation begins. “So, you don’t have to work again until Tuesday? What are you doing over the weekend?” I ask.
In between mouthfuls of food he says, “Oh you know, that thing with Mom and Dad.”
Except, it’s like I’ve been dropped in the middle of the story. I have NO IDEA what “That Thing with Mom and Dad is.” (I’m informed now, Tom Jones concert Atlantic City.)
Then he says, “And the carpet will be installed on Monday.”
Here I also have no idea what he’s talking about. Seems the second guest room is returning to "den-hood". The bed is gone, the second big screen TV is purchased, as is a couch, and now the hardwoods will be covered with carpet.
Finishing our meal, we leave Whole Paychecks, and go out to his car and continue the conversation. I ask about a mutual friend. … this time, as Dr. Esq. begins to describe something, he turns and looks at me full in the face, “You’re acting like I haven’t talked to you in forever. I know I’ve told you all of this stuff. Why don’t you remember?”
“I don’t remember any of this, because we HAVEN’T talked in forever, and you didn’t mention any of this at Thanksgiving,” I say.
“Well I’m not going to mention my private business in front of people,” he exclaims. “Going to see Tom Jones and converting the guest room back to a den is ‘private’”? I enquire?
“Well, I know I’ve told someone all of this … oh yeah, I bet it’s, 'Ms. Soon-Divorced-Cry-Me-a-River'," he says.
“Well quit telling her everything!” I say, punching his arm. “I’m tired of missing out.”
“I’ve gotta say something – or change the topic somehow when I talk to her, Mit. I can’t stand to hear anymore about the Ex” he tells me.
“No! No you don’t have to talk to her every night. Don’t answer your phone,” I tell him. “And once again, I now know why I’m your best friend. It’s because I never call you, isn’t it?” I responded.
“It’s true. You are very low maintenance, Mit. You’re so low maintenance you DON’T EVEN ANSWER THE PHONE WHEN I CALL,” he says with exasperation. (point well taken)
Now that we’re in the car, where no one can over hear the stories concerning his social life, Dr. Esq. fills me in on his extensive, on-going search, through Craig’s LineUp, Catch.com, and FleeHarmony to find a baby-bearer. Not only am I the perfect “low maintenance” friend, I am also the perfect, “almost a guy” friend to tell his dating stories too, because I crack up at the same things, and don't act horrified when he tells me the "details".
The first story is about a woman who ditched him for drinks because her “best friend” from Brazil suddenly arrived in town. Then he told me about a promising prospect, (although past baby-bearing age). She’s smart, very pretty, fit, and doesn’t appear to be crazy after one meeting. He really likes her, he says.
“So you going to ask her out when you get back from Atlantic City?” I ask.
“I think the signs are good. She leaned in when I talked, she touched my arm a few times, and she said I smelled good,” he replies.
I turn the heat up in the car, “So, you going to ask her OUT again?”
“I called her back within 24 hours, like the rules say”, he tells me. I begin to open my mouth to inform him how STUPID “TheRules” are, when he says, “and I don’t think she’s like the “Clothes Dropper”.
“What? What do you mean, “Like ‘The Clothes Dropper’?”
“You know. The bouncy, top-of-the-pyramid, former cheerleader chick, from the hospital,” he says.
“No, no, I don’t know who you’re talking about. I’m quite sure I would remember the “Top-of-the-Pyramid-Bouncy-Former-Cheerleader-Chick,” I say. “And what’s this about “dropping clothes”?
“Well, we went out. But she’s hyper because she was a cheerleader in college. And she was, like, bouncing off the walls. She just had too much energy for me. I was trying to leave, and she wouldn’t let me go … and I said, ‘Really, I’ve got to go. I have to be at the ER in 8 hours.’ She told me, ‘Well, wait. I want to show you just one last thing.’ “So I stood there Mit,” he told me.
He looked at me and said, “You don’t remember this do you? I thought it was you who said, ‘How embarrassing’. But, no-no, you wouldn’t say that, would you? ‘Cause you know what happened, right?”
I start to open my mouth to give him my well educated guess, but before I can say anything, he tells me. “She told me to close my eyes. Then she said, ‘Surprise! This is what I wanted to show you,’ and when I opened my eyes, she was naked, Mit!”
“You mean she whipped off her top?” I asked.
“No! Completely undressed! Just ‘whoosh’ and all of her clothes were gone” he said. “I must have been telling this story to “Ms. River-Flood”, because she said, ‘How embarrassing. I bet you wanted to get out of there quickly, didn’t you?’, he told me with a nervous laugh.
I peered directly in his little legal eagle eyes I said, “Get out of there my ass! You did her didn’t you? There’s no way you’d walk away from that. No matter how crazy she is!”
Still laughing – and looking slightly uncomfortable he said, “Maybe. But now you know about, “Clothes Dropper”.
“You know what’s even better than knowing about this story?” I asked him.
“Knowing I’m going to write about tonight!” I said with glee. “Now EVERYONE is going to know about THE CLOSE DROPPER! Woo-hoo! Your work is done. You can take me home now. And thanks for dinner.”
And so, here I am.
And here you go.
“The Clothes Dropper” to close out 30 nights of stories in November. Goodbye NaBloPoMo.