Kristen and Goose
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John and Karen, Goose’s parents, invited me for dinner last night. Matt, too, but he already had plans to be with Debbie and her folks. We enjoyed a perfect end of summer meal: corn, rice, salad with fresh tomatoes and steak from the grill. I’d also grabbed a tall smoky glass with a dark band of blue from the kitchen cabinet and filled it with, ice, tonic water, a jigger of gin and perfect wedge of lime.

We talked about many things, from school to developers, to John’s Insight’s gas mileage and house repair. Every once in a while I’d look at John and hint at things more political. He and I inhabit a lonely corner of left field and because he is receptive, I tend to expose my most rabid thoughts. But with Goose at the table, the topics remained airy, such as the incoming class.

“You should see this freshman’s neck,” Goose said, “It’s only about this wide.” He help his thumbs and forefingers together to make a circle not much large than my glass.

“Makes you want to snap if off, doesn’t it?” An innocent, natural reply, I thought.

Karen had already left the table, but from above the sound of running water and clattering dishes I heard, “Now why would you even think of saying that?”