Another BIG tick on the odometer

I'm trying to decide if it sounds better to be "nifty" at 50 or fabulous at 50.  Nifty just sounds kind of dorky to me.

I now know the secret handshake, here's a few lessons learned on this ride:

Anything you really want to work, takes work.  Relationships, putting together that grill, to getting the story just right.  Roll up your sleeves and get to it, it's not getting done by itself.

Ask for help when you need it. Sometimes this can be humbling, but there are people wanting to help, letting go not only helps you but makes them feel good also.

Have a Partner in Crime.  Mine pulled a good one on me for my birthday, he's got so many "dude" points to my "chick" points.  I'm in the hole for a LONG time.

You are as old as you let yourself.  Seriously.  I don't feel my age.  Especially when I do something stupid and someone asks, "Are you 15?"

Admit your mistakes, then laugh about them.  Don't hold a grudge, it's a waste of time.

If you spend time being self conscious, you lose time having fun.  Go ahead and fart in that yoga class getting the pose right, sing that karaoke realizing you can't carry a tune, try that high dive out even if it gives you an enema when you land it wrong.

Use the AARP card.  It gets you discounts.  I'm heading over to McDonald's for my free Senior coffee.

Laughter is really the best medicine.  Try to do this every day.  Better yet, just laugh at yourself, that's the quickest and easiest way to accomplish this.

Having children is a hilarious, scary but unbelievable part of the journey.  Whether it is shaking my head, or trying not to kill them, or filling with pride, I'm so proud they are mine.

Share your journey.  I'm blessed with wide open friends and family, who don't say "Are you crazy" they simply say, "OK where do we start?"  Friends are like duct tape, they will either fix the problem, or tape its mouth shut.

I've now reached the age where wearing those "baby doll" flowing tops doesn't prompt someone asking if I am pregnant.  Comfort in clothing is now the key.

Everyone has cellulite, and if they don't then they are worrying about something else on their body.  Let it go.

The only space I can control in right around me.  Occupy that space.  Make it something special, crazy, and amazing.  It's the only space truly yours, work it hard.

Many thanks for all the birthday wishes, all my amazing family and friends that made the trip celebrating with me.  Here's to another fifty more.

I love you all.

OK, time to start planning.

NANOWRIMO Event - Microfiction 100 word story

The ticket agent was the seat keeper, the computer gatekeeper.

Behind me a woman stands with a crying baby, we are currently seated together for this 4 hour flight.  

“What can I DO for YOU?”

“I’m looking for an upgrade for this flight?” 

He starts typing.

What is he typing? Why is he typing so much? 

He starts clicking the mouse, lots of clicking.

He says, “Looks like you are in luck.”

Angels start singing, the baby smiles before crying again. 

Once on board, I realize he’s upgraded the wrong flight.

I hear a wail as they board the plane.

You can't write 52 shitty stories - Do You Wanna Hide A Body?

You know you have a best friend when you're both contemplating what to do with a dead body.  Let's not get mired in the details of how we ended up with a dead body, let's just leave it to "Really?  We said don't touch our wine unless you ask us first."

"Do you wanna hide a body?" She asks.

 I nod, "Absolutely, I've watched plenty of CSI before, I am an expert at this."

"We need to do this quickly, dead bodies start to smell pretty quickly."  I look over to her, so she quickly adds, "That's what I read online, you know.  I don't have any direct experience."

"OK, you are right.  We can put the body in my son's room, while we figure out what to do.  The smell definitely won't be noticed there." I reply.

"What do you need?"  She asks.

"I guess the first thing needed is a blanket or a rug." I reply, scratching my chin, "One that is preferably big enough so nothing is hanging out."

I think a little longer.

"I've got it.  Let's use that hideous blanket my mother gave me when we got married.  This way if anyone notices it missing, the logical explanation is that I've always hated that rug, it was time for it to go.  Perfect excuse."  I say, excited that I can finally get rid of the monstrosity in my bedroom.

"We'll need a plastic bag or tarp or something," she adds, "Body fluids can be pretty messy."

"Messy?"  I ask.

"Yeah, remember putting Vicks Vaporub under our nose and spreading a tarp when changing a toddler's diaper?  I figure it's probably worse than that."  Her eyes furrow.

I remember those days, I remember smells and sights that brought me to my knees.  "God yes, I remember that.  Good idea.  I may have one in the garage."

She starts thinking again.  "We could make it look like a robbery.  That way if it is found then we are not suspects."

I think about this.  S"Take out all the money, don't forget the Costco card because I'm not paying for another year for a card just for wine specials."

"OK, we've got the plastic, we've made it look like robbery.  Where do we dump it?"  She asks.

"Throw it over the overpass.  That's where everyone dumps bodies in the movies.  Let's do the one on Shallowford Road." I suggest.

"Oh, that makes total sense, because that over pass is right over ROUTE 40!" She looks at me like I am an idiot.

"But if it is in that hideous rug, most of the cars will run from it.  I can see someone yelling, 'Harold, hit the gas, what if the ugliness of that rug rubs off on us!  Get away from it.' I'm laughing at this."  I say.

"Maybe the overpass is not such a good idea.  If you remember the movies, they always find a body when it's dumped.  We need something that makes the body more discreet."  I say, sad that I am stuck with the stupid rug for a little longer.

She starts thinking again.  "So the overpass thing probably isn't such a good idea, how about chopping it up, putting it in plastic bags?  I got several boxes of the XL Ziplock bags.  I found them on sale at Bed, Bath and Beyond."

We both pause, thinking about this.  The answer for that idea is obvious to the both of us. "But that's too much like cooking.  I don't feel like cooking tonight, do you?"  There's another pause as that idea bites the dust.

My friend brightens, "We could dissolve it in acid."

Our minds start turning.  This could be a plan.  "Acid, easier to get rid of, small manageable parts, we could just put it in the fridge in the back, everything back there looks like a science experiment."

We look at each other, chopping, finding some type of acid resistant container in our overflowing collection of Tupperware.  "How do we keep the family from peeking in the containers in the back?

"I know!  Put an expiration date of two days past today.  No one will touch it!"

Sounds like a great idea.  Common sense gets the better of us.

She looks at me, my stylish skirt, my new white shirt.

"We'd both look horrible in prison orange, it does not go with our hair." She says quietly.

"Too much work involved, anything that seems like housework or cooking is not worth the trouble.  Plus what do we do after they are gone?"  I add, looking over to the two in the kitchen.

"Funny, but I think we'd honestly miss them." She says as her husband turns and smiles at her holding up his beer.

"I can't believe they didn't pick up wine when they stopped to get beer. They'll never know how close they came to staring in the next Criminal Minds episode."  I say as I smile and wave back.

Be Who You Are

This is am amazing video:
Embrace The Documentary

When you really think about it, we spend way too much time worrying about the way we look.  I watched this video, shocked that when  asked to describe their body in one word, women responded with:

fat
disgusting
wrinkly
gross

This got me thinking about what I tell myself in the mirror when I look at my naked body, that conversation I have with myself, those words have appeared from time to time.  I am changing that conversation, looking at who I am, rather than worrying, celebrating the story told in wrinkles, cellulite and softness.

Wrinkles, lines, and crows feet oh my.  There are too many stories written on my face.  Those laugh lines are badges earned, the worry line a product of watching two young men grow into amazing adults.  When my sons tell me, "Don't worry," I just point to the line saying, "Hasn't worked yet!"  I can remember stories told, trying not to pee my pants, wondering was that when that extra line around my mouth was formed?

My legs may have cellulite but in my lifetime, how many miles have they run?  How many finish lines have they carried me across, sometimes when both of us are out of gas?  Those legs chased toddlers for years, ran to grab children out of harm's way, helped me find peace with a walk in the woods.  Always moving daily, they haven't let me down yet.

My soft middle.  When I complained about how soft my waist was I was given a great reminder from my child.  "That's a Mom Pillow, it is so comfortable when we lay on the couch and watch a movie."  Wow.  A Mom Pillow, carrying two children, their stories etched in stretch marks and soft skin.

Mermaid Hips.  There's extra baggage there, how would I have balanced a child on my hip without that padding?  And who could carry two bags of groceries with a child without that padding holding them in place.

Cellulite on the butt - I always say that God gave me enough padding back there so when life bites me in the ass, there's still something left over.  I am also reminded that having a little padding is beneficial on that long bike ride, or falling on my trail run.  So what if is doesn't fit perfect into that bathing suit bottom, make fun of the waffle marks when you get up from that backyard chair.

Underarms - So there is a little extra, um, skin under my arms but where would I be without them.  How could I write if I didn't have them, how could I feed myself.  They may not be perfect but they are doing exactly what I need..

Mind.  No one sees it, but it really is my greatest asset.  Not ass-et but asset.  This amazing thing creates entire stories and writes them down, it comes up with something for the family when face with an avocado, beet and chicken breast in the fridge, and it always is the voice of reason when I try putting myself down.  I'll take that "she's a nice girl" or "she'll make you laugh" anyway, because people remember ten years later more than she fit into the G-string (and really, I'll never prove that to you anyway.)

I find it interesting that the most I covered up was back in my teens when I had the best body of my life.  I was the most self conscious back when, as I look on it, I looked pretty damn good.  Why was I so self conscious then?  Because we are given these perfect body images few can live up to.  A few years ago I made an important decision:  I work out for my health, but I don't have the time for the perfect body, I have too many other things to do.  Being fit and healthy is great, but I'm making sure I include happy in that equation, and that means turning around the conversation when I look in the mirror.  Each day I look at that body, fresh from the shower, let my mind be grateful that I am standing in front of the mirror, even with those extra wrinkles, rolls and curves.  These are part of the story creating this amazing person I am today, I wouldn't change a thing.  Next time you are asked to sum up your body in one word, what will come to mind?

Beautiful
Voluptuous
Curvy
Amazing
One-of-a-kind?

Because, yes, you are every single one of them.  Rejoice.

Oh Groupon - You did it again!

Groupon!  Are you yanking my chain?

The advertisement describes the importance of a clean "undercarriage" I couldn't agree more.

Then a bunch of questions come to mind:

First of all, does this look like a Smurf Dick to you?

How vigorous do you wash your "undercarriage?"  Is this something you need to do several times a day?  Do you need a "deep down scrub job?"

It looks so soft, but I am sure if I touch it, it would be pretty hard right?

Do you hold this in your right hand or left hand?  Or whichever one is more comfortable?

Is it a gentle wash or does it require some control?

How often to you use this?  Can it do any harm to your undercarriage with overuse?

When exactly do you lube it?  Before or after?

Do I hold the protruding handle while I crank it?

Will it eventually turn a different color after use?  Or just stay blue?

Then of course, if you are planning on using the Bike Chain Wash and Scrub Kit often you may need this other Groupon buddy to protect those valuables.

The Banana Bunker.

Hurry!  Take advantage of this offer because it could sell out soon.  We all know of quite a few dirty chains that need a great scrub, then a good lube.

NANOWRIMO Event 2 - Horror

I'm not very good with this.  Since my husband was the "Gumbo Nazi" all weekend.  Meaning he made a big pot of Gumbo and followed us for two straight days asking, "Want another bowl of Gumbo?"  He inspired me into a Gumbo story.

They sat around the table, breathing shallow, eyes fixed on the bowls in front of them, trying not to look over to the stove.

They hadn’t said a word in over an hour.  Since walking through the door with groceries in hand, stopping cold in the kitchen, plastic sacks falling to the ground, contents rolling across the linoleum.  

The stop at the grocery store was an addition to their day, someone came up with an idea for dinner, something that surprisingly appealed to everyone, prompting a trip to the store.  They shopped as a family, missing one, enjoying comparing prices, picking out ingredients, adding a few favorite snacks.  Checking out, happy the total bill was less than anyone guessed, returning home, ready for a fun family meal.

The kitchen smell hit everyone as they opened the back door.  Heat from cooking coming out in a wave, hitting everyone like the scream of a ghost, moving past them into the still summer air.  A smell lingered, the two youngest quickly putting a hand to their noses, the oldest and mother sniffing before looking at each other.

“You are just in time for dinner.  He said quietly, looking at his family, turning, gun in hand.

He was standing at the stove, beat up wooden spoon in hand, large pots simmering in front of him.  Looking at her husband, Melinda remembered how many times he used that spoon on her and the children.  He looked the same, hair standing on end, wild look in his eyes.  What scared her more than the gun in his hand, or the wooden spoon in the other was the smattering of blood on his shirt.  Along with the blood on the cutting board next to carrots, okra, and onion.  Two pots sat on the stove, both spewing steam, Melinda wondered which one contained the awful smell.

The children took an involuntary step back, all eyes fixed on the gun. He gestured to their kitchen table, set for dinner, bright flowers in the middle.  “I am so excited we can celebrate together.  Let’s eat dinner first.”

Everyone’s eyes at the table flowed back and forth, giving strength with a look, no one sure what would happen if they held hands.  Melinda’s mind went to where her cell phone sat, back out in the car, useless to everyone.  She then glanced around the kitchen, the butcher knife was on the counter, she could make a go for it.  That could be their only chance.  He put five bowls on the counter, spooning a rice mixture in first, then following with some type of stem from the stove.  Everyone at the table shuddered as he placed the bowls in front of them, not moving for the silverware.

Returning to the stove, watching his family at the table, he waited patiently.  When they didn’t pick up their forks, he was hurt.  “Aren’t you going to eat this delicious meal I prepared for you?  Don’t let it get cold.”

Melinda looked over to her husband.  Why hadn’t she gotten the call?  Did anyone know he escaped?  Did he kill everyone there?  He said he was going to finish what he started, why didn’t she get any warning.  The last time he stood in their kitchen was the day she almost died.  They told her they were safe when he went away.   What went wrong?  Looking over to her children, their faces white as they looked at the steaming bowls in front of them.  She had to let it play out for now, he had the control. He was in the house, he had the gun, she had to assume no one knew he was there.  Praying that the asylum was looking for him was their only hope.  Looking down at her bowl, Melinda figured eating his dinner kept him from harming the children, she could eat anything.

Picking up the fork, skewering a piece of the meat in the stew, she paused, looking to him and smiling before lightly putting it into her mouth, every eye in the room fixed on her.  Melinda chewed for a few minutes, with a small shudder, swallowed.  It actually tasted like Gumbo.  “Wow, is this Gumbo?  It is delicious!  You have outdone yourself.”

Watching her eat, the gun went from being pointed at his family, to down at his side, the tension in the room abating a bit.  Watching her husband, wondering what was in the Gumbo, Melinda looked around at the pieces of meat on the cutting board, the splattering of blood on his shirt, wondering what was in her bowl.  “Gumbo, right?  What is in that?”

Ignoring her, turning to his children, watching them cringe as his eyes fixed on them, the gun twitched at his side.  “Aren’t you going to try my meal?”

“Oh, they are vegetarians now.  They don’t eat meat, they haven’t in years.  I love it!”  Melinda said, pulling his attention to her as she took another bite.  This time the possibilities of what was in the bowl made her gag.  “Oh, it almost went down the wrong way.

Looking over to her, his head cocked to the side, Melinda saw a glimpse of what attracted her to him, he was actually handsome.  His expression changed, chilling her heart as he went over to the spilt grocery bag, pointing to the fish, looking back to his children.   “How can you be a vegetarian?” 

Every eye at the table went directly to her, Melinda, thinking quickly, replied.  “Oh, it is the new thing with children these days.  How they are one with the animals of the planet and don’t eat them.  I don’t believe it for a second. Why don’t you just put the gun down? Come sit and enjoy dinner with us?”

Moving to the table, everyone involuntarily moving toward her as he took his seat at the head of the table.  Melinda remembered them doing that as children, that they wanted to be out of slapping range of their father, this time they couldn’t get far enough away.  He looked down at the steaming bowl in front of him.  “This time I made it very special.  It is my famous Gumbo, I started with my own Roux, cooking all day while you were gone.”

Looking down at the bowl, Melinda wondered.  It did taste like Gumbo but with a subtle difference, what was that strange taste? 

Looking around around the kitchen, her eyes lingering on the blood on the cutting board, she couldn’t find any other clues as to what he’d done.  Was he planning on killing them after the meal?  Did he put poison in the Gumbo?  Did he just cook a family meal because he missed them?  “How did you get here from Stonehearst?”

Smiling at her, taking a big bite of gumbo, he replied.  “I was lucky, people don’t mind hitchhikers if they are dressed in clean clothes.”

Melinda thought about this.  He probably took the clothes from someone at the asylum, but he didn’t bring the meat for the gumbo from there, it would be too difficult carrying that long a way.  “Hitch hiked?  How resourceful of you.”

“Anything to be with my family on this special day.”  He took a big spoonful of the gumbo, chewing slowly.  “Yes, this is delicious.  Probably my best yet.”

Melinda looked into the bowl, trying to see if she recognized anything in there.  It looked like regular Gumbo, looking back up to her husband, “Did anyone come by to see you today while you were cooking?”

Putting his spoon down, the table tensed as he calmly put his hand on the gun sitting next to her.  “Now why would you ask that?  Did you tell anyone I was here?”

Melinda stopped, spoon in mid air to her mouth.  “Why, no?  How would I know that you were coming to visit us?  This was your surprise!”

He went back to eating his Gumbo.  “Yes, I guess it was a pretty good one.  I’ve missed you.  I think about you every day.  That’s why I wanted to come and celebrate our anniversary with you.”

Melinda counted around in her head, it was her anniversary.  Something she’d rather forget.  What surprise did he bring this time?  The last time he tried killing her, stabbing her 14 times, cutting out a piece of her arm and eating it in front of her sitting and watching her die.  It took the kids crawling out the window of the house and getting the police saving her life.  The scar on her arm reminding her of that day, her anniversary. What did he have in store for her this time?  Would he keep the kids in the room to watch?

“Oh, I haven’t forgotten.  It’s been 16 years now hasn’t it?”  Melinda asked, in her mind it ceased to be a wedding anniversary, it was the day she almost died, it wasn’t 16 years, it was 6 years to her.

He took another bite of the gumbo, “Yes, sixteen years!  This time we celebrate with a special guest.”

Melinda looked down at the Gumbo again, her stomach sending everything back up, her heart heavy as she wondered what exactly was in it.  Putting her fork down, she looked at her children, sweating at the table, turning to her husband.

“I don’t care what you do to me this time, let the kids go.  Put them in a room without a window.  Just don’t make them part of this.”

He sighed looking at her.  “But why not?  They should be part of it.  Nana is part of it too.”

Melinda looked at her husband.  Her husband’s mother was dead.  She’d been dead for 8 years now, his therapists saying her death was his trigger.  Looking down in the gumbo, her stomach lurching, how did he bring a dead woman here?  “What do you mean Nana is here?”

He got up, opening the door to the fridge, grabbing a beer.  The smell from inside was hit them again, the same thing they smelled walking into the kitchen, pungent, sweet, sickening.  Everyone at the table looked over to the fridge.

The smile was just teeth, lips decayed and gone, small fragments of grey skin holding onto the skull.  What used to be long gray hair was yellowish, most of it gone, a small patch holding onto what was left of the scalp.  The skeleton was crammed into the second shelf of the refrigerator, her purple dress showing black stains from putrefaction, her legs only bones, broken in several places as he squeezed her onto the refrigerator shelf.  Next to her sat a gallon of milk and a jar of olives.  Melinda looked behind them to the fenced in graveyard sitting in the right corner of their property.  A mound of fresh dirt sat next to her gardening shovel.

Turning back to his family, his look of love made Melinda sick to her stomach.  “See Nana missed you as much as I did.  She helped me prepare the gumbo, she wanted this day to be as special as you are.”

Melinda’s eyes went directly to the meat sitting on the cutting board, it was too fresh, who was it?

He skewered another bite of his gumbo, looking around the table. “The beef was on sale.  It makes the Gumbo taste so much better, doesn’t it?”

You can't write 52 shitty stories - Alonzo's story

Alonzo’s Story

Kathleen knew it was going to be a disaster.  Trying her positive reasoning on herself, she whispered,  “It will be fine.  It is just the first meeting, everyone will get over it and life will go on.”

“This too shall pass.”  She added as they crossed the street to Sullivan’s Bar.

“What did you say?”  Hearing his deep melodic voice, Kathleen lost her train of thought.

“Mmmm?” she loved looking at his curly black hair, her hand almost touching it, confirming it was as soft as it looked.  His dark brown eyes sparkled, Kathleen warning herself to not get caught up in them.

“You said something?”  Alonzo smiled at her, his even white teeth bright against his dark skin, his hand wrapped around Kathleen’s, the warmth making her cheeks turn red.

“Oh, nothing, I was just talking to myself.” They stopped in front of the bar, holding hands.  “We don’t have to go in here if you don’t want to?” Kathleen half said to herself.

Alonzo turned to his girlfriend, taking both of her hands, looking deep into her eyes.  “My Kathleen, we are here.  What would we tell your family if we invited them to drinks but we didn’t show up? I don’t think that would be a very good first impression for me?  I am trying to impress the family, you know.”  He leaned forward, kissing her on the lips, lingering for a moment, knowing exactly how to drive her distraction.

Kathleen pulled back, her fingers lightly touching her lips, he did have a talent of making her forget everything.  This time it was difficult forgetting her family, knowing they were in the bar, watching the football game, drinking beer, contemplating her new lover coming to meet them.  Poor Alonzo had so many other things against him besides his young age.  Her family was going to crucify him.  Grabbing Alonzo’s hand, Kathleen pulled him away from the front of Sullivan’s bar, into the side alley.  Pushing him up against the wall, she tried her hand at distraction, kissing him hard, molding her body against him.  Pushing aside the scenario playing out in her head as her family met Alonzo, she went with the moment, enjoying his hands as they slid around her waist, pulling her closer to him.

Alonzo abruptly ended the kiss, putting Kathleen away from him, his hands moving from her waist to her shoulders.  “You thought you could distract me.  As much as I would like to explore this more, I am going to meet your family.”

Looking at Alonzo, Kathleen sighed.  There were so many reasons they should not be together, age just one of them.  For some reason he didn’t listen to any of them, his kisses making her forget all the reasons and coming back for more.  “You know that I’ve grown up in a pretty traditional Irish Catholic family.”

Alonzo smiled, Kathleen melted.  “I am Catholic too, so there is something in common.”

Kathleen sighed, he was so optimistic.  “It’s not the Catholic thing that may bother them.”

“My mother prays the rosary every day.  They will like that we are the same religion.”  Alonzo said.

“It’s not that.  You see,” Kathleen paused, taking in his amazing tanned skin, the tight white t-shirt accentuating every muscle, not to mention different parts of his body accentuated by his tight black jeans.  He looked so dangerous, but was so sweet.  “They’ve been looking for a nice boy for me for a while.”

Kissing her lightly on the lips, Alonzo brushed a piece of hair behind her ear, “I am a nice boy.  I go to church.  I have a job.  I respect you.  What else makes a nice boy?”

Figuring she wasn’t going to add “Irish” to the list , he’d find that out soon enough, Kathleen shrugged, “Let’s go meet them, OK?” .

The inside of the bar was busy, a usual crowd for a Thursday night.  Kathleen could hear her brother’s shout immediately, damning herself for putting Alonzo in the middle of insanity.  His light touch on the small of her back warmed her cheeks as they moved through the crowd to a table in the back of the bar, close enough to the TV.  Noticing her family brought her grandmother along, Kathleen contemplating turning and running away.  Alonzo’s warm hand covered hers, she heard determination in his voice.  “It will be a nice family get together.”

Figuring she might as well get the show on the road, Kathleen pulled Alonzo over to the table, holding his hand, wondering if she was hurting him.  Everyone was in mid argument, her father and brother screaming at the TV over the ref’s call, her grandmother, mother and sister arguing how much they knew about Kathleen’s new boyfriend.

“Mom, Patty, Nana, this my boyfriend Alonzo.”  Kathleen felt like she was standing in front of a firing squad.

Everyone at the table went silent, all eyes moving from Kathleen to the handsome young Italian man standing next to her with a brilliant smile on his face.  Immediately crossing herself, Kathleen’s grandmother whispered, “Jesus, Mary and Joseph, where are all the Irish boys?”

Kathleen wanted to hiss, “Get your jaws off the table, this is embarrassing!”  She knew Alonzo was slightly younger than her, but did they have to act that ridiculous?  Turning to her boyfriend, Kathleen shrugged toward her dumbfounded family, saying, “I’m sorry.”

Ignoring her, Alonzo moved toward the table, taking Kathleen’s father, Buddy’s hand, shaking it vigorously.  “I am so glad to meet Kathleen’s family.  She tells me so many good things about you.”

“I’ll bet she does.”  Kathleen’s brother, Ned shook Alonzo’s hand next, looking down at his hand, flexing it from the Italian’s firm shake.

Turning from Buddy and Ned, Alonzo focused his attention on Kathleen’s mother, grandmother and sister.  “Oh, I see where my beautiful Kathleen gets her looks from, she looked exactly like you Mrs. Murphy.  You must be so proud.”

Kathleen’s mother, Jean, mug of beer halfway to her lips, regarded the Italian. Her eyes slowly moving down the tight white T-shirt, lingering on the black jeans, the large silver belt buckle accentuating his slim hips.  “Well, I’ll be.”  She whispered.

Molly, Kathleen’s sister just sat staring at Alonzo.  He smiled at her, making her face turn red.  Kathleen knew that reaction well, she experienced the same reaction when Alonzo first came up to her, talking to her.  She met him in the local bar she frequented with her friends every Thursday night.  It took several conversations with him before realizing he was talking to her, more meetings with friends before convincing her he wanted to be with her.  After dating for 6 months, Alonzo was ready for the next step, Kathleen still secretly unconvinced that he cared for her.  After a marathon lovemaking session, when he had her at her weakest, he got her to agree to meeting the family.  The first question her grandmother asked, confirmed Kathleen’s fears.  Could this sweet boy handle the Murphy family?

“How old are you?”

Alonzo laughed.  “Kathleen said you would ask me that.  I am 28 years old, I have traveled the world by backpack, and I absolutely adore your daughter.”

Kathleen sighed as her father’s eyes went from the TV screen to her, one eyebrow raised.  Luckily, fate intervened in her favor, the football game coming back on.  Buddy turned back to the TV, picking up his beer from the table.  “We’ve got a chance at a touchdown here, let’s hope they don’t settle for a field goal.”

Alonzo looked up to the TV screen.  “Look Kathleen, your father and I have another thing in common besides loving you, we both like sports.  I watch the real football.”

Buddy stopped, beer midway to his mouth, turning to the young Italian boy.  “Excuse me?”

Neal stood next to his Dad, “Did he just say what I think he said?”

Kathleen stepped between her boyfriend, father and brother.  “Dad, he’s from Italy.  That’s the type of football they watch.  Give him a break, OK?”

Buddy stopped for a minute, looking at the Italian.  “When you are with us, you watch the N-F-L, the best sport in the world.  Now let’s see if the Ravens can get a touchdown.”

Alonzo started to say something to Kathleen’s father, Kathleen quickly turning him toward her, “Why don’t you grab us a beer honey.  All this commotion has made me thirsty.”  Molly, Kathleen’s sister watched, leaning over to their mother.  “Man I could touch that any day.”

Alonzo smiled at the women, before leaving them for a trip to the bar. Kathleen pulled out a chair, sitting with the women of her family, she only had a few minutes to set them straight.  “Before you say anything.  He really is sweet, and nice, and….”

Molly looked back to the bar, Alonzo was leaning forward ordering, his ass visible in the tight black jeans.  “You don’t have to give me any explanation.  One look at that body and I totally understand sister.  Totally understand.”

Nana wasn’t as fazed as Molly.  “Kathleen Marie, In my younger age I was distracted by a German boy, but marrying a nice Irish boy was the best decision I ever made.  What happened to Seamus O’Reilly?  He was such a nice boy.”

Kathleen looked at her grandmother.  “Jeez Nana, that was in the 8th grade!  I’m a little older than that.”

Nana looked over to Alonzo.  “Well, he he looked like he’s in the 8th grade?”

Jean laughed.  “Honey, we are all just a little surprised.  You said you were bringing a boyfriend, you could have prepared us a little more.”

Kathleen smiled.  “I know, but then you’d all be telling me everything wrong with him.”

Molly sighed, looking back again at Alonzo’s ass.  “Oh, I can’t find anything on that list.  Not a thing.”

“I wanted you to see how sweet he was before judging him on his looks.”

Watching him walk back to the table, two beers in hand, a big smile on his face, Jean turned back to her daughter, “I am sure he is sweet.”

“Like sugar.”  Molly said, becoming quiet as Alonzo sat at the table next to Kathleen.  He leaned over touching his lips to her cheek sliding a beer in front of her.  Molly sighed.

Alonzo turned to Jean, his smile bright.  “So Kathleen tells me that you work with books.  I am hoping to become a writer one day.  I’ve traveled, now want to settle down and write!”  His enthusiasm was contagious.

Jean sighed.  “Yes, I am an editor for a local magazine.  I write a food column for them also.”

Alonzo clapped his hands together, looking at Kathleen.  “You did not tell me your mother is a chef!  That is another thing we have in common.  I love to cook.  Kathleen thinks that my recipe for meat balls is the best she’s ever tasted.”

Molly almost spit out her beer.  “Oh I am sure Kathleen loves eating your balls.”

“Molly!”

Alonzo, unaware of what transpired continued.  “I can come and make my sauce and balls for you.  We can have a special family time with it.”

Nana crossed herself again.  “Jesus, Mary and Joseph.”

Buddy came back to the conversation.  “I can’t believe they only got a field goal on that run.  They should have gone for the touch down.”  He looked Alonzo up and down.  “What do you do?”

Alonzo stood up, shaking Buddy’s hand again.  “I am a chef.  I hope to write a cook book one day.”

“He says that he has the best balls in town.”  Molly added with a wink.

“Molly!”  Kathleen felt her face heat up.  Buddy looked down at Molly.  “You need to cool it young lady.”

Molly shrugged.  “He tells me to cool it when Kathleen brings this to the table?”

“So, how long have you been dating?”  Jean asked, moving the conversation off of Alonzo’s balls.

“Six months.”

“How did you meet?”  Molly asked.

Alonzo covered Kathleen’s hand.  “Kathleen came to my restaurant for a cooking class.”

The family looked over to Kathleen, who shrugged.  Molly was the first to say what was on everyone’s mind.  “You, cook?  You can’t even boil water.”

Kathleen laughed looking over to Alonzo for real.  “I guess I got sick of eating Ramen noodles all the time.  I wanted to cook a decent meal.  I was planning on having everyone over for dinner once I figured out how to make something.”

The entire table laughed.  Alonzo frowned, looking at them.  “What do you mean?  Kathleen is talented in the kitchen.”

Nana clucked her tongue.  “I am sure she is, does she help with your balls?”

This time Buddy looked over to his mother.  “Mom, that is not appropriate.”

“Yes, we cook them together now.  She is learning very quickly.  You would think she has a little Italian in her.”  Alonzo replied with a smile.

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph.” Nana crossed herself as Molly spit out her beer, Neal opened his mouth, shutting it quickly as the game came back on

Alonzo frowned.  “I am glad that Kathleen brought me to meet you.  I want you to know that I am in love with this woman.  She makes me smile every morning.  I know that she is a few years older than me.”

“A few?”  Molly asked.

“Yes, a few, but I believe in love, nothing else matters but the person you want to be with.  If that person is older then she is older.  Why do you Americans not say a word about a person that is younger than me?  I see a beautiful woman who makes me laugh, makes me feel good about myself, and yes, she may not cook but I love taking care of her.  I love hearing her sighs, I love rubbing her feet, I love reading books to her.  We may not be the same age but we are compatible.  What we are looking for is not your approval, but that you share this amazing journey of life with us.  We don’t need a blessing, we need each other.  We can watch the N-F-L, we can make meatballs and marinara sauce, we can have a beer together.  It is your choice.”

The entire table was silent staring at Alonzo, moving over to Kathleen.  She was looking at him, her eyes soft, her mouth in a silent ‘“oh.”  Looking over to her family, Kathleen simply shrugged, he’d said enough for the two of them.  All the doubt she felt about them being together vanished, she fell that instant, hook line and sinker.  She knew at that moment, looking at the promise in his eyes as he smiled at her that she was going to marry that man, have quite a few kids with him and possibly learn how to cook in her lifetime.  Everything in Kathleen’s life changed that moment.

Nana took a deep breath looking between the two of them.  “So back to your balls.”