Joe and Simon hugged themselves into a booth at the Café at the Pfister on a Saturday afternoon. They stopped for a quick nosh before scrubbing up for a wedding on the 7th floor. These gents looked like they had invented hugging, and I was immediately impressed.
I watched this small miracle take place as I chomped a veggie omelet. Call me a sap, but watching a sloppy looking guy hugging his imp of a six-year-old son in public is kind of beautiful.
Simon reminded Joe, buy cialis “We gotta make this quick pal…Mom wants us to get upstairs and shower.” I saw that Simon believed in the HAPPY WIFE=HAPPY LIFE principle. Smart man that Simon.
Joe had some important stuff to discuss with his father.
“Why do you think I don’t like Mickey Mouse?” asked Joe?
Simon was surprised. “You don’t like Mickey Mouse?”
“No, tadalafil I don’t like Mickey Mouse,” Joe answered flatly.
Joe had it all as he ordered his mac and cheese—someone to talk to who buys lunch and gives you hugs. It made me think about the recent hugging history between me and my dad. Our pre meal hugs have been a matter of diminishing returns for years.
Simon helped Joe sort it all out. “You like Pluto. You like Minnie Mouse.”
“I do like Pluto,” said Joe. “But I DON’T like Minnie Mouse.”
Simon scratched his head. “Why do you think you don’t like the mice?”
“I don’t know,” said Joe.
My dad and I used to chat this way over Saturday morning pancakes and sausages. We now struggle to talk, but not out of a lack of love. We have just become men who rarely find time for having as much syrup as you want and telling bad jokes.
Joe shifted gears between nibbles of mac and cheese. “Dad, can a good knife cut anything?”
“Well, it depends,” said Simon looking at Joe’s butter knife.
“What about candy?” asked Joe. “Could a good knife cut candy?”
“That would be hard,” said Simon scooping a bit of Joe’s noodles into his mouth as he waved the waitress over for their bill. My dad used to finish my sausage. It’s clearly part of the good dad DNA.
Simon and Joe paid their bill and scurried out of their seats. Simon swung his arm around Joe’s shoulder in what can only be called the perfect walking hug. “Show offs,” I thought. I shared the smile that had come over my face with Simon as I caught his eye.
Joe lit up as he walked past my booth. “A jawbreaker would be hard to cut.”
“A jawbreaker would be impossible to cut,” agreed Simon.
I don’t know guys, watching you makes me think nothing is impossible. Consider for instance a future Saturday at the Café at the Pfister when me and my dad hug our way into a booth and let the syrup flow. But no way, no how is dad finishing my sausage this time.