Conversation

"Best thing that ever happened to you,” my buddy said after walking in my apartment door and stepping over the beer cans. "Never thought she was right for you."

“Shut up and grab a beer,” I said from my spot on the big couch, adding for him to also grab me one.

He returned with two beers and contemplated pushing Mongo – my 80-pound dog – off the smaller couch. Mongo growled as he approached the couch.

“Tell the dog to share the couch,” he said.

“That’s his couch, I’m not telling him anything.”

He slowly slid onto the floor and repeated his opening line.

“Best thing?” I asked. “Dude I’m dying here. Don’t give a rip what anybody says, she was perfect for me. Now she's gone.”

“She is 13,” he said.

“19,” I corrected, “and she’ll be 20 in less than a month.”

“Might as well be 13,” he said. “You’re what 35?”

“33,” I said, “and I won’t be 34 for several months. Plus she’s a mature 19 going on 20 and I’m an immature 33 going on 34. Think that qualifies as a perfect fit.”