Page 281 of The Doctors Will See You Now

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.

Me: Yes. It’s the nice way of saying sexy. But I refuse to use that word in the same sentence in which I’m talking about my father.

Dad: Do you think Nicole thinks I’m a silver fox?

Me: Yes. And before you ask me anything else, I’m ending this conversation because it is about to reach awkward places. Call Mom or Jean-Pierre if you want to continue it further.

Dad: Love you, Low.

Me: Love you too, Dad.

I set my phone back on the table and prepared to dive back into work, but my phone buzzed again with a message.

Dad: See you at 3?

Me: I thought you said 4?

Dad: No, I said 3.

I loved my dad, but holy hell, he was driving me crazy.

Me: Dad. I can scroll back through the messages and see that you said 4. So, yes, I’ll see you at 4. Now, leave me alone until then so I can work for a little bit.

Dad: Do you want me to help you pick out your outfit for tonight, sweetheart?