An original work of fiction
STANDARD DISCLAIMER: The following is based on a true story. It is at least as true as any current Made-for-TV movie now being shown. All names have been changed to protect any affected party. Some names have been changed several times. The author reserves the right for any vaguely autobiographical portion of the following to reflect more positively on his persona than would otherwise be true in reality. Please cut some slack to any recognized person, place or thing, however fictionalized it may be. END DISCLAIMER
This is the sixth installment of Lefty's continuing saga. You may want to read the first installment to give you some idea of the trials and tribulations leading up to the current dilemma.
Dating in the 90s:Parity Error
Chapter 2: The Fairness of Life, Installment 6
Food for Thought.
Gil has given me food for thought. After we hang up I chew on some Hostess Cupcakes to help my digestion. My feelings have been bent into pretzels. I feel as though I was first looking at a big fat pitch down the middle that was impossible to miss. Then it felt like hitting an embarrassing pop-up right to the pitcher. Now it feels like I've got two strikes, bottom of the ninth, two outs, and I know fear. This life/love experiences thing sucks; I should be sticking to softball.
Fortunately, I don't have 24 hours every day to think about the Perfect Babe or softball, because I am due at my scheduled tennis match. It's the four of us again; me, Morty, Marsha, and of course, Cynthia.
I don't know what gave me away. As soon as I get to the tennis court, I notice that the three of them are rolling their eyes. They are talking in hushed tones. None of them are gossiping, which is what our group loves to do.
We are warming up our groundstrokes. I try concentrating on my strokes, but keep getting distracted by their abnormal behavior. I miss another ball long and finally have to ask. "OK you guys, what gives? Why are you all giving me the fisheye?"
The three of them look at each other from various ends of the tennis court. Cynthia gets the nod to be spokesperson. "Shermie, you appear to be a little down...," she tentatively starts off.
"Cynthia, whatever gave you that impression? I am completely normal! I am not crying, sniveling, or otherwise outwardly feeling sorry for myself! How can you possibly draw any other impression?" I say peevishly.
Cynthia takes a step towards me. "Well Shermie," she says sensitively, "I don't want to insult your groundstrokes, but you are missing every ball long so far in the warmups. It's almost like you're trying to beat the tar out of the ball. Maybe it's like...well...kind of like you're trying the take your feelings out on the ball.
" Marsha and Morty nod their heads in agreement. They are glad that they elected Cynthia as spokesperson.
Cynthia continues, "I know that you were feeling VERY good about the woman you had met. But that was LAST time we played tennis. Could this possibly... perhaps... maybe have anything to do with that? Did something happen to a certain temperaneous relationship that you would like to share with us?"
Morty chimes in. "Shermie, I am your all-purpose dentist." Morty in actuality is the all-purpose dentist for all of us. He cleans our teeth, shoots us with x-rays, accepts our insurance, and then takes us out to lunch and plays tennis with us. What more can you ask for from a dentist?
"As such, Shermie, I am entitled to know if something is bugging you. It's part of your medical history! I have a suspicion that you may have found out that the 'Perfect Babe' wears dentures.
"Morty, I can live with dentures. Heck my dad doesn't have a tooth in his head!"
Morty looks shocked--perhaps I have gone too far, but I continue anyway. "Guys, guys, guys. You are all perceptive to a fault. Or make that a double fault. It just so happens that I am going to go out with the aforementioned Babe this weekend. But you are right. She is the 'Perfect Babe' except for ONE thing. And it's not mouth related. Let's play tennis!" I say, changing the subject abruptly.
I know if I change the subject like this it will make my friends crazy. I decide that if I am to have the disadvantage of trying to drive every ball into the fence, at least my friends will be driven to the ends of their curiosity.
It turns out that I am right on the money. Cynthia blurts, "Whoa there Shermie--what's that ONE thing?"
Marsha is also bursting with curiosity. "We cannot possibly play tennis until you clear the air!" she announces.
Morty demonstrates his curiosity by bouncing the ball with his racket as rapidly as he can.
"Guys, you know I would tell you all about it if I could. But I can't right now. I, myself, am trying to figure out what's happening. But I will give you a hint. This is as big of a dating trauma as Cynthia's last episode, from which she was crying for a week. For now, you will have to settle for that, with my promise to fill you all in later."
I spin my racket and request, "Up or down for first service?!"
Three pairs of eyebrows are collectively raised. However, my friends know when they are licked. We start playing tennis and I hit most balls smack into the fence. Cynthia and I lose decisively. It's looking bad for both my tennis game and my tennis partners. I have another date set up with Leah for the weekend. I have not lied to my tennis buddies. What I have not told them is that Leah has managed to flake out on at least five other dates we had planned. Back hurting, stomach queasy, feeling dizzy; she's been running the gamut of pregnant diseases. I did not know that there is such an epidemic to be faced while in a maternal way.
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Shermie should confess that he was with a woman and got her pregnant but she wanted to move away and he never sees the baby. But he loves Leah and wants to marry her and let her have his kids.