Page 163 of The Doctors Will See You Now

Bill Paige, back in the game. If I weren’t trying to fit in a little writing time for Monday’s column, I’d find it more adorable than annoying.

Me: The blue one. It brings out your eyes.

My dad had a killer set of blue eyes I’d spent half my life watching women react to shamelessly. He just never reacted back. I honestly wasn’t even sure if he knew the effect he had on the opposite sex, but tonight, once I finished up this column, I’d do my best to make damn sure he had the confidence boost he needed to be ready for a night of schmoozing Nicole Shepard.

Dad: Will you come over a little early and help me get ready?

Me: I thought that’s what we were doing with all of these text messages?

Dad: Low.

Me: Fine. But I need to finish this column first.

Dad: Can you get here by 4?

Me: That’s 3 hours before the party, Dad. That seems like way more time than we need. Unless you’re wanting me to do your nails before we go…

Dad: Shit. Do you think I need to get a manicure?

Good Lord, he was nervous. Even too amped up to realize I was being a total smartass and teasing him. As I started to type out another text message, I silently wondered if I should lay off the sarcasm and give him a break.

Nah.

Me: When’s the last time you had one?

Dad: I’ve never had one. God, is that bad?

He was proverbially crawling up the walls over this party tonight. The thought made me laugh, so I typed out a message.

Me: Will I find claw marks on your walls like in Jurassic World when I get over there?

Dad: What? No.

Me: Then, no. You don’t need a fucking manicure, Dad. Just take a breath and relax. Everything will be great. I promise.

Dad: This is nerve-racking. Is this what dating is always like?

Well, sometimes it’s a lot fucking worse, I thought to myself. Especially when your date has a bed made out of shards of glass.

Me: Sometimes, but considering it’s been like thirty years since you went on a date… I think it’s safe to say you’re a little more nervous than most.

Dad: Goddammit, Low. Don’t remind me.

Me: LOL. Relax, Pops. Everything will be perfect. I’ll come over in a little bit and make sure you’re looking like a silver fox. Nicole will be putty in your hands.

Dad: Silver fox??? I don’t have that much gray hair, Low!

Before I could explain that silver fox was actually a good thing—a simple saying referring to handsome older men—he fired off another panicked message.

Dad: Do you think I need to dye the gray out of my hair before the party?

Help. Me. It was only half past noon, and my dad had already considered getting a manicure and dyeing his hair. This was going to be one long fucking day…

Me: Silver fox = Handsome and distinguished older man.

Dad: So it’s a good thing?

Jesus Christ.