Page 38 of Friendshipped
“You’re going on dates?” I ask.
“Oh, honey,” she says. “I don’t want to embarrass you. I know it’s awkward to think of your grandma getting some action. But, yes. I’ve been out with some lovely gentlemen. Most of them are even pretty close to my age.”
Trevor’s body silently convulses beside me. I look over and he’s trying hard to stifle his laughter. I can’t even meet his eyes or we’ll both be in danger of losing it.
I don’t even want to know whatgetting some actionentails for my eighty-year-old grandma.
“Well, I’m glad you’re getting out and enjoying yourself,” I say.
“See,” she says, landing on a photo of a man with very little hair, age spots and an obvious set of dentures. He’s smiling warmly, and his eyes look kind.
“This man, Bill, has been pinging my phone like crazy. They call it pinging, you know. Probably for the sound it makes. Anyway, he’s a looker and he sure says some sweet things.”
Her eyes look a little misty and I can’t help but feel happy for her. I had no idea the app could cater to people like Memaw. Leave it to Felicia.
“We didn’t show our photos to one another at first, but once we chatted for more than two weeks, I wanted to see what I was dealing with. He took me out bowling last Saturday. He was the perfect gentleman. And a pretty good kisser too. You’d think those dentures might get in the way, but they sure didn’t!”
“Hooo-kay!” I say, needing to stop that train on the tracks. There are some things I don’t need to hear in my lifetime. “What are you making for supper?”
“I was going to make chefs casserole. Do you want some?”
“No thanks,” Trevor and I say simultaneously.
Chef’s casserole consists of a can or two of Chef-Boy-R-Dee RavioliOs dumped in a ceramic dish with saltine crackers crumbled on top, zapped in the microwave and topped with cheese whiz. You can’t make this stuff up. My memaw eats like McCauley Culkin in Home Alone.
“We’ll eat later,” I assure Memaw.
“Okay,” she says. Then she looks over at Trevor. “How about you?” Memaw asks. “Are you dating anyone?”
“No ma’am,” Trevor answers.
Memaw shakes her head and gives him a loudtsk-tsk.
“And I assume you’re still single too?” she says to me. “Unless that whole potato salad battle was the app pinging you too?”
Trevor gives me a quizzical look.
I mouth,don’t ask. He’ll ask.
“Actually, it was. Felicia got me on the app too.”
“That girl could talk the Ohio River into changing its course and choosing to flow upstream. I tell you,” Memaw says.
“She’s persuasive,” I agree.
“So, have you gone out with anyone more interesting than this young man right here?” Memaw asks, pointing to Trevor.
“Definitely not,” I say, blushing for some unknown reason. “I had a horrible first go at things.”
“Well, that’s one of the problems with being young,” Memaw says. “Men don’t really come of age until they are around forty or fifty. We have to wait a long time for them to catch up to us, you know.”
Trevor’s glowing with affection for my memaw. She basically insulted him, and he still thinks she hung the moon. No wonder he’s one of her favorite people.
“Is Brian Dashwood still mowing your yard?” Trevor asks, saving us all from more awkward discussion of our dating lives.
“He was,” Memaw says. “But he hasn’t been by for three weeks. “I don’t know if I upset him or what happened.”
“How would you have upset him?” I ask.
