Beginning of Thursday night.
My cell phone rings.
Caller ID is checked.
Note: I never answer my phone. Okay, not never, but rarely. I check the ID - if I don’t know the number, I don’t answer. If I do know the number, I decide whether or not I’m going to answer. That’s how this works. Eventually, most likely, if it's important or I like you - I'll call you back.
Oh Lord, here we go.
Me: “What?” exasperated, loving tone.
The cutest boy in the world: “Hey, if you order a supreme pizza from the Hut, I’ll come eat dinner with you.”
Me: “Well, be still my beating heart. You mean to say that if I buy you dinner, you’ll deign to visit your sister who does everything for you? Why, Todd, you are a thoughtful little thing.”
The cutest boy in the world: “Cut the sarcasm.”
The cutest boy in the world: “Alright you’ll buy pizza??”
In the background, a lonesome voice whines “What about me?”
Me: “Is that Jon?”
The cutest boy in the world: “Yeah, he’s a mooch.”
Me: “What kind of pizza does he want?”
The cutest boy in the world: “It’s free, he’ll pick it off. Give us 20 minutes before you call and order it, we’re on our way to the liquor store.”
Me: “So I get alcohol and you get pizza?”
The cutest boy in the world, but not the brightest: “You want something???? But I only have enough money for . . .”
Me: “Jayzus, nevermind.”
45 minutes later.
Hot pizzas on the counter. Drinks mixed in the glasses.
Cute, too-young fraternity boys in my Man Free Zone living room.
We eat, we watch ESPN, we argue - my brother is cheering for Seattle Sunday for NO OTHER REASON than he ALWAYS cheers against MY teams, we find stupid things to laugh about, they get up to leave.
Exit the boys.
Enter the boys.
Jon: “Todd locked his keys in his truck.”
Side note - this occurs OFTEN.
He normally blames it on ANYONE but him.
Last time, he blamed it on my daddy.
Who lives 150 miles away.
Well . . . he called me as I was getting out of the truck and you know I can’t do two things at once and I wasn’t paying attention and he was talking about hunting this weekend and I just forgot to get my keys out of the ignition and so it’s all his fault that I locked them in there and you’re sitting in the bed of my truck in front of a Subway in the ninety degree heat while your boyfriend, the ex-repo man, jimmies my locks because I’m too anal and controlling to give you a key because then you might get in it and go through my secret truck stuff or drive it around and pull things out of ditches with the winch because you do those kinds of things when no one’s looking and I know it and I don’t want you doing it with my truck when I’m out of town.
Me, looking pointedly at the idiotic but cute boy: “Tell me again why I don’t have a key to your truck?”
Cutest boy in the world: “It wouldn’t matter anyway. You never answer your phone. Even if you had a key, I would still be locked out.”
Me, exasperated: “Umm, genius-boy, YOU ARE AT MY HOUSE! If I had a key, you would be IN your truck right now. Hellllooooooo????”
Jon: Laughing so hard he has to sit on the couch.
Cutest boy in the world: “Whatever. *pause* We’re gonna be late for the poker game.”
Yes, he finally got in his truck.
He had to call one of his other roommates to bring him his spare set of keys from his dresser drawer.
Yes, I could have driven him the 1.3 miles to his house to get his keys.
But bump that.
If it was up to me, he would have had to hoof it to his house to get them, considering he’s the ignorant wretch who won’t give me a key.
Besides, he parks like a boy.
Which means he somehow manages to take up the WHOLE driveway and was therefore blocking BOTH my vehicles in the garage.
And the other spare vehicle was at his house.
Now, having said that, God will smite me.
Todd does not have a key to my vehicle.
Mainly because it costs a boatload of money to have the key ordered from the manufacturer. Damn these new fangled vehicle thing-a-majigs.
Otherwise, he would have a key.
As they’re about to leave, Todd throws something at my head.
Thank the heavens, ha ha, for my cat-like reflexes.
But whatever . . . I caught “it”.
Me: “What’s this?”
Cutest boy in the world: “It’s the spare set to the truck. Go get copies made and keep one on the rack at your house and keep one on your key ring.”
Me, astounded: “I get a key?”
Still astounded: “I get a key?”
Me, exiting astonishment, entering sarcasm-ville again: “And I get to pay for YOUR safety of mind? And your dinner?”
Cutest boy in the world: “Uh, Yeah.”
And, because he is my sweet, cute, adorable, perfect-in-all-his-imperfections, Brudder, I will go in the morning and have keys made - on my dime - so I can rescue him.
I hope you all have a brother.
I love him so much it hurts sometimes.
Even when I want to strangle him, I love him so much it makes me teary eyed.