Thursday, February 28, 2013

Not Quite a Practical Joke

My Dad had a friend from work named Ron.  Ron was very much a character and there are many stories about him.  I believe he was at least 10 years younger than my Dad, married with 3 daughters (one of whom was my favorite babysitter and probably my first crush).  My memory of him is that he was always suntanned, always smoking and I think he used some sort of pomade in his hair.  My Dad and he got along like gangbusters and my Dad respected him in the way you respect someone who gets away with all the crazy things you don’t have the kahunas to do.

My Mom and Dad and Ron and his wife, Mary, went out to a nice dinner at (I believe) the Haufbrau Haus in Cleveland.  The Haufbrau Haus, like Red Lobster, was considered a red-letter, fancy restaurant.  Being the early 70s, it featured both a cocktail bar and a salad bar: sophisticated!
The wives went to the salad bar first while the husbands chatted at the table.  My Mom brought my Dad a salad and went back to get one for herself.

RON: What was that?
DAD: What was what?
RON: What just happened? Why do you get a salad?
DAD: [paternalistically]I’m the husband, Ron.  My wife understands that.  It’s how it should be.
RON: Really? Huh…
DAD: Women appreciate it when you let them do little things for you. You need to let Mary think you need her.
RON: Alright then. [Yelling across the restaurant]MARY? YOU MAY BRING ME MY SALAD!
MARY: [Yelling across the restaurant] RON? YOU MAY KISS MY ASS!

 That was one of my Dad’s favorite stories.

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