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Chester reveals that his boyfriend is coming to dinner and bringing someone, which makes Carl suspicious, in “The Hippie Whisperer“…

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“Wait a minute.” I [Carl] became suspicious. “This isn’t a blind date, is it?” I turned away from the pasta I was stirring to stare him down.

Chester held up his hands in a calming gesture. “Absolutely not! He just happened to be in the right place at the right time, and hungry. But if something happens between the two of you, even better.”

He gave me the smile I’d come to dread over the years, the one where he was about to spray paint his room an emergency vest orange, or shave Chewy, our cat.

He was up to something, I knew it.

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Chester continues to pester his dad (Carl) about dating in “The Hippie Whisperer“… He means well, but… 🙂 Longer than six sentences for context….(forgive me).

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“Where’s all this coming from?” I {Carl} asked.

“At least you don’t wear tie dye, though the Hawaiian shirts—” {Chester}

“What’s your point, rugrat?”

“Is your mirror broken?” He glowered at me.

I channeled my inner Yoda. “Broken, the mirror is not.”

“You’re tall, fit, and good-looking in a scruffy kind of way. You have crow’s feet that make you look distinguished. You have killer dimples. Cut that hair, make a little effort and guys will be banging down your door to hump your leg.”

“I’m not looking to date a dog.”

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Welcome to Rainbow Snippets weekend!

I had a new release this week with Less Than Three Press (yeah!!!), so if you’re interested, check it out: https://lessthanthreepress.com/books/index.php?main_page=product_bookx_info&cPath=90&products_id=1604

As for our main character(s), Chester finally makes it home, and asks his dad (Carl) to look at the computer. Uh-oh…from “The Hippie Whisperer“… Longer than six sentences for context….

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Chester asked, “Can we use your computer?”

“Sure. What’s up?”

“You’ll see.”

A few minutes later I stared in horror at my monitor and shook my head vigorously. “No way in hell,” I said, unequivocally. A man’s garish profile grinned at me while Chester tried to convince me to participate in online dating.

“Why not?” he prodded.

“The guy has red, white, and blue stripes in his hair. He looks like a patriotic skunk.”

“Like you can talk with your thinning, shoulder-length, blond hippie hair and seventies sideburns. Neil Young would like his hair back.”

I now regretted watching all those documentaries on the History and Discover channels with him when he was younger. “Funny. I don’t see why I need to change anything.”

“For one thing, Carl, your hairline’s receding. And another, it’s 2014. No one wears their hair like that unless they’re a part of Greenpeace.”

“It’s Dad to you, and I like my hair just fine, thank you very much.”

“You’re in denial. All you need is some patchouli.”

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The guys take Carl to task for not dating and using his son as an excuse in “The Hippie Whisperer“…

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“What are you afraid of, C?” Sam asked. “If I were gay, I’d screw you in a hot minute. You’re an attractive, eligible bachelor with a lot to offer. Though, you might want to do something about that hair, man. And the Hawaiian shirts.”

My friends were fashion consultants now? And what the hell was wrong with my hair?

“I think he needs a boy toy, someone to shock him out of his comfort zone,” Rod said.

“Chester is almost twenty,” Larry interjected. “I’m sure he’s had more sex in the past two years than you’ve had since your divorce. And that was fifteen years ago. You’ve done a great job with the kid. Now it’s your turn.”

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Carl [first person] ponders getting old in “The Hippie Whisperer“… Longer than six sentences, my apologies. 😀

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“I have a question,” I declared.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Larry teased.

I ignored the manly titters around me. “Are we old?”

“Bite your tongue, traitor!” Rod said, in mock horror.

“I’d prefer to say we’re in our prime and the fun has just begun,” Larry added.

“Have you been talking to the wicked witch in the mirror again?” asked Sam.

“Twice today someone said I was old. Is there a rule that says once you’re over forty, you’re decrepit?” I asked.

“As long as you don’t think that way, it’s not an issue,” Larry said.

“I never gave it much thought myself,” Rod added.

“Well, I certainly don’t feel old. I exercise, work hard, take care of my son. I’m vital, active, and relevant.”

“Sounds like an ad for Metamucil.” Larry winked at me.

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More from Carl and the guys in “The Hippie Whisperer“…

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“Quit your bellyaching and make your play,” I goaded.

Rod moved three spaces and made it to the dining room. “I think Colonel Mustard did it, in the dining room, with the knife,” he confidently proposed.

“Not with the knife,” Sam, our resident physics expert said as he showed us his card.

“Sorry to say, guys, but Mrs. White did it, with the candlestick in the ballroom.” I opened the envelope and proved my hypothesis. Groans greeted my pronouncement.

“She’s such a hussy, that Mrs. White,” Rod said as he put the game away.

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Carl is hanging out with the guys in “The Hippie Whisperer“…

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“Chester coming home for the summer?” Larry, the psychology professor asked as he tried to convince the rest of us that Mrs. Peacock did it, in the kitchen, with the knife.

“Sorry, not Mrs. Peacock,” I said with unmitigated glee as I showed him my card. Larry’s shoulders drooped. “And, to answer your question, yes, he’ll be here tomorrow. Passed all his exams. Claims he was bored the entire time.”

“I wish my students were like that.” This from Rod, head of the history department. “They act like the world is coming to an end when I give them a multiple choice test. I mean, the fucking answers are all there. Just pick one!”

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Carl finishes up the phone call with his son in “The Hippie Whisperer“… Carl is in the first person.

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“You’re the second person today to call me old.”

“Struck a nerve, did it?” said the brat. “Are the guys coming over tonight, as usual?”

The “guys” were three faculty members at Baden who were about my age. We hung out together most Friday nights at my house, playing as many games—board games or otherwise—as we could stand and getting drunk in order to forget the fact that we didn’t get laid regularly, whether gay or straight. At least, that was my assumption. They usually spent the night, using the couch, sleeping bags, or the spare bedroom. Unless they just passed out on the floor.

“Of course they are. It’s tradition.”

“Geez. You guys need to get laid already. Tell them I said hi. I gotta go. Dre and I have an end of semester party to crash. Love you, bye!”

“Hey wait!” I said, but he was already gone.

Love you, too.

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