So my dad, the J-Man, and I had a breakfast date two weekends ago. We do this whenever we can, which isn’t often, since the old man is crazy busy with work/being a slumlord/reigning as the Karaoke King of the Midwest.

He pulled up in his Liberty to pick us up, and lo and behold, there was a chick in the front seat.

Now, I’ve heard about this chick. About a month ago, my father went on a cruise with her, apparently because the friend that was supposed to go had DIED, and in spite of her loss they had a wonderful time. They’ve been friends for years and the relationship naturally developed into something else, something wonderful, something I’d rather not know about.

I had but one question when he reported back from The Islands. “How old is she??”

“Old enough.”

Oh, God. This told me that she was probably either younger than me or the same age. My father (Karaoke King of the Midwest) has young friends.

How old is my dad? Well, I’m sworn to secrecy on that one, but let’s just say that he qualifies for something that begins with Social and ends with Security.

Did I just slip? Aw, shucks!

The month of November went by, and I received several calls from my father laughingly complaining that he had seen her every single night since the cruise and therefore had no time for karaoke. Every night for a month. This made me personally see a little relationship burnout in his future, but who am I to judge?

I didn’t know anything about her other than that she was probably young, thought my father was HILARIOUS, and was probably a gold digger.

Naturally, when I saw a female head in the truck waiting to breakfast with us, I rolled my eyes. The J-Man, ever eagle-eyed, noticed. “She’s really nice, Mom.” He had met her before the cruise. “Give her a chance.”

I promised to give the woman who would spend my inheritance a chance, and away we rolled.

She was chatty with my dad, joking around, but had little to say to J. or I. I figured she was probably nervous, given the fact that she looked younger than me. She had long brown hair and a trendy hat on, and also a nice leather jacket. My dad let J. and I out of the car and then pulled the car up to the curb to let Miss Thing out so that she wouldn’t get her shoes ruined in the snow. I rolled my eyes again. “MOM,” intoned the J-Man.

We all sat down and I got a good look at her face. Very, very few wrinkles. She had to be about 32, 33. What in the name of God was she doing with my dad?

I mean, my dad was cool, but COME ON.

I was nice. I chatted, and so did she. She is a nurse at a local clinic, so at least she is gainfully employed, and we chatted about that. The breakfast was a buffet, so once while going to fill our plates at the trough, she mentioned that she went to *city high school*. I mentioned that I went to *other city high school*. “Oh yeah?” she said, “What year did you graduate?”

“‘92. How about you?” I waited with gritted teeth.

“‘88.”

‘88?? The bitch was 40?? I had more wrinkles than that when I was neither smiling nor frowning!! I decided to hate her on principle.

I walked back to the table while her skinny ass was still poring over some Danish or some other shit that I couldn’t dream of eating, and I hissed at my dad. “She’s 40?? She looks younger than me!!” He had the nerve to laugh.

I decided to hate my father, too.

The J-Man, who is special and kind and good, said, “She totally doesn’t look younger than you.” Have I mentioned how much I love my child?

When she got back to the table, we chatted for a while, and then – and I still have no fucking clue why she decided to admit this – she told me her dark secret. Now, I didn’t know this woman from a hole in the ground, but I have the kind of face that people like to talk to. People just TELL me shit. I can be in the grocery store and someone will start telling me their entire life story. If I’m in the doctor’s office, forget it. I know everybody in that damned place by the time I leave. I am a people magnet. Maybe it’s because I don’t generally talk too much.

Anyway, the girl told me she had Botox. I guess she had just been injected the previous week. “Look,” she said, “I can’t move my eyebrows.” And it was true. She couldn’t.

I was curious, so I said, “What exactly did you have injected?

“The furrows between my eyebrows. And underneath my eyes, and the corners of my eyes, and my crow’s feet. And here. And here. It’s $150.00 per wrinkle, so it got kind of expensive.”

$150.00 a fucking wrinkle?? Was she putting me on? Crow’s feet alone house quite a few wrinkles.

If my father paid for that I am going to kick him square in the nuts.

It’s Botox! It doesn’t even LAST! I think it lasts, what, six months?? (am too lazy to research)

What a colossal waste of cash.

Now I joke about having plastic surgery all the time, and if I could afford it, I would have a tummy tuck in a New York minute. I had a C-section and boy, do I need that shit. So I suppose that makes me just as bad. But this woman couldn’t have looked that bad before, I don’t think. She probably just had the regular little lines that most of us over thirty start to see creeping about. I mean, buy some Olay and get over yourself, already.

I don’t know. She does act like she actually likes my dad a lot, so maybe I’m wrong. Maybe I’m being bitchy to this woman when she really does care about the man. He’s a good guy, after all.

He’s just had bad experiences with gold diggers in the past, and they’re usually young and attractive, and they usually start out like this, with the woman wanting to spend a lot of time with him, and they end in heartbreak for the old man. He even married one, and that was a ridiculous disaster.

This woman seemed nice, personable, even sort of smart. But would she date a broke *cough*sixty-five*cough*-year-old man, even if he was funny and the Karaoke King of the Midwest? I highly doubt it.

On the way back from the restaurant – and I swear on my child’s eyes I’m not making this up – Kanye West’s “Gold Digger” came on the radio. It could not have been more perfect or more hilarious. I very nearly peed my pants.

“I love this song. Turn it up.” I said.

“I love this song TOO!” she squealed.

I just smiled.

I’m probably a big old bitch.

Happy Tuesday.

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