Stopped at a cafe in town today, and since I've known it's proprietor for ten years, sat down (bad idea, I was tired and I felt even more so, once sitting) and chatted with her and a mutual friend of hers and mine, and the friends daughter. The proprietor and her friend were decorating the Christmas tree with what looked to be 1000 ornaments encircled by neon signs of christmas lights. It was very Vegas, very bright.
Anyhow, most of what they were saying had to do with Christmas Tree strategy, so I looked over at the girl, Megan, and said, "say Megan, why aren't you helping them?"
Megan was staring deep into the eyes of the Universal Teenage Phone Thingy, and was kind enough to raise her eyebrows in salute. "I'm talking to Chris," she said.
"And Chris is your great uncle, from Peduka?" I asked her.
Funny snorting sounds erupted from behind a star on top of the Christmas tree, with a hand wiggling it into a semblance of uprightness.
"No..." said Megan, looking away from the UTPT and up to the tin ceiling of the cafe, "Chris is my boyfriend in Atlanta... and Mom, he has the money next week."
I had no idea what that meant. Mom said, "well, your going to use it wisely, not foolishly, huh?"
"Oh, of course!" said the fifteen year old. I raised my eyebrows this time.
"None of my business, of course," I said, "but what money, from where. Is he a crack dealer or something?"
More snorts from the approximate position of a tinfoil jacketed gingerbread man.
"Of course not," she shrieked in mock teenage alarm, while texting on some awful subject. "His father died and left him money, which he will be getting next week."
"No," she smiled, looked me in the eye for the first time, and actually dropped her phone to her side, just to think without distraction, on this golden thought.
"So... uh, I'm curious..." I asked her, "outside of his dead fathers money, what exactly does this guy do for you?"
A chorus of, "That's mean, Andy." Came from the Christmas tree.
"It is?" I asked them, turning around. "My fifteen year old friend who won't graduate from high school for three years, has designs on an inheiritence owed to a boy her age, by his DEAD father, and I'm mean for wondering why the money is even a conversation piece by a mere love interest. I'm mean? What does this money have to do with anything even possibly good. My God, she's fifteen."
Everyone just looked at Scrooge. "Sorry I'm being mean," I told Megan, "'cus, I guess the real truth is that you really love this guy, huh?"
"Oh yes," said, Megan, "and you weren't too mean, I can't understand what your saying anyhow."
"Well, it's hard for everyone to text and think," I said, "and besides, I am definitely a boring guy."
She read the remaining sentence in her UTPT, and sort of startled when she realized I had stopped talking. "Why do you say... you say you're definitely a boring guy? Why?"
"Well isn't it obvious," I explained, "my Dad's alive and well."
The Christmas tree fell over...