“Your HTTR is out of order.”
I gave her a look, afraid to ask. “What’s an HTTR?”
“Your hot-to-trot radar.”
I laughed. “Where do you get these things from?”
“I watch late night TV. Anyhow, my point is that Dr. Tough Love is hot to trot! Do you think he would go for a woman twenty years older?”
I arched an eyebrow.
“Okay, maybe thirty years older. Thirty-five, but that’s my final offer.”
“You need to know how to read the room,” Dr. Tough Love continued. “Women always give visual clues to indicate their moods. For instance, I went to Peet’s Coffee last night and a woman was trying to steal my parking spot.”
“I was there first!” I yelled at the radio.
Please don’t talk about me when I can’t defend myself.
“She said we could compare whose day was more horrible and the winner gets the spot. Then she started coming up with all these lame excuses of why she was having a bad day and needed that parking spot.”
“They weren’t lame, mister!” I wished he was there with us so I could properly throttle him.
“I don’t even remember them all,” Dr. Tough Love went on. “I think one excuse was that she broke a nail and her pedicurist canceled her appointment.”
I pointed to my head. “It was my hair stylist not my nails, you baboon.”
Grandma Joyce leaned forward and inspected my hair. “Do you want to see the person who does my hair? I could probably get you in today, if I bring her a piece of my world-famous Bundt cake.”
I shook my head. “That’s quite all right.”
Her hair stylist specialized in hairdos for mature women. Don’t get me wrong, Grandma Joyce was rocking her hair like nobody’s business, but I wouldn’t be ready to join the Blue-Haired Ladies Club for a few decades, at least. I had a problem with the wordma’am, so it shouldn’t be a surprise to anyone.
“Anyway, so this woman, Lori was her name . . .”
Grandma Joyce turned to me. “How does he know your name?”
I shrugged. “I have no idea. I was trying to figure that out myself.”
She gestured to the radio. “See? Smart man.”
“I could tell she was desperate,” Dr. Tough Love continued.
“Notdesperate,” I lied. “Needy was more like it.”
Once again, Grandma Joyce put her finger to her lips. “Shhh!”
“I ended up getting the parking spot because she lied about a friend dying,” Dr. Tough Love said.
“I didn’t lie. It happened! I just exaggerated the truth a tiny bit.”
“But back to my point about reading the room, I knew she was desperate, I knew what her needs were, so you know what I did? I decided to give the dog a bone. I bought her a mocha on my way out to make her day.”
“Are you kidding me?” I stood and went to the kitchen, slamming my hand on the power button of the radio. “He called me a dog!” I turned to Grandma Joyce. “Can you believe that?”
Grandma Joyce giggled. “It’s just an expression. He was saying that he decided to do something nice for you, even though you weren’t completely honest with him.”
I shook my head. “Your interpretation skills need some work. He called me a dog.”
