The Very Next Day (part three)

You might think I drink a lot of coffee. 

That's because I do. 

I don't have a lot of bad habits, but if drinking coffee's a bad habit, then that's one of them. I don't drink. I don't smoke. I don't do drugs. But put a cup of coffee in front of me, and I'll make it disappear faster than my paycheck in the hands of my ex-wife.

So, after dinner the next day, my wife serves me a cup of coffee. I sit at the table. I look at the patio. I look at my wife. She looks at me. Then at my father.

"Would you like some ice cream before we go outside?" she asks him.

"Uh..." he says. 

He's trying to be polite.

My wife cuts him off at the pass.

"It's new," she tells him. 

I look up from my cup. I didn't know my wife had gone shopping.

"What?"

"The ice cream. It's new."

"It is?"

"It is."

"What kind is it?"

"The new kind."

Now, before you think my father's a senile old coot, let me assure you, he isn't. It just takes him awhile for the point to sink in. It may be because of some hearing loss due to old age. Or it may be that nothing we say is of any interest to him. Or he may just be yanking out chain and fooling with us. Or it may be because he has a relaxed brain that's worked hard most of its life, and, now that it's retired along with his body, it would rather be soaking up rays on the beaches of Miami, checking out the itsied-bitsied, teenied-weenied, yellow polka-dot bikinied babes. 

Or maybe that's something I'd like to do. 

I get confused.

But not my father. 

Every month, when his bank statements come in, he goes over them line by line, looking for any kind of a discrepancy. All of his investments, all of his savings, all of his expenditures... he's right on top of them. It drives the people at the bank nuts. On the other hand, it does give my father a social life.

"Sure," he says, "I'll give it a shot. It can't be any worse than what you gave me yesterday. But just give me a little. You always serve me too much."

So my wife goes over to the freezer, and takes out the same container of ice cream she had used the day before. She gets his favorite bowl, and serves him... just a little. He tries it.

"Hey," he says, with enthusiasm, "now this is good! Give me a little more."

My wife looks at me. Our eyes meet. We're both smiling. She takes his bowl. Serves him several more scoops of vanilla ice cream. As she puts it down in front of him, he says:

"Where'd you get this ice cream?" Smack, smack." It's good." Smack, smack. "I like the flavor." Smack, smack. "Much better than yesterday." Smack!

"Your son bought it."

"Who?"

"Your son."

"My son?"

He says that like he's surprised to find out he has a son after all these years.

"Yes, your son. He went to the PX this morning because you didn't like the one I served you yesterday."

"Yeah, that one from Costco wasn't very good," he says. Then his voice softens. He shakes his head a bit. "My son bought me this ice cream?" 

I guess he can't believe it.

He digs back in.

Smack, smack. "Yeah... hmmm... it's good." Smack, smack. "I can tell the difference right away." Smack, smack. "This is better ice cream." Smack! 

"I'm glad you liked it, dad," my wife tells him, and puts the container back in the freezer before my father can see it. 

That's why I love my wife. 

Because she's smart, she thinks on her feet, AND she gives me all the credit.

My father finishes up the last of the "good" vanilla ice cream in his bowl.

"Any more?" he smacks.