Author's Note: Zahhh.. The long awaited chapter. There is (fortunately or unfortunately, you decide)more to follow this. I won't lie. It was hard to write. I hope it lives up to expectations. Otherwise, you can eat it or something.


So I'm back and you know, I've been thinking how to kick off our greatly postponed reunion for a few days now. I've been trying to tell myself that it was time, you understand, giving myself a bit of a push toward the stage where I belong, and have only recently gotten around to buzzing another performance. I'd be lying sack of wild goose shit if I told you all I had no time.

So no, time wasn't the issue and neither was Bob. I'll blame it on my severely lacking manhood, in the proverbial sense of course, and a newly acquired taste in hats, a fine specimen of which I am currently boasting on my head. (spotlight shines on an obscenely green plaid bowler. followed by laughter.) Who knew accessories could attract such merriment? I've taken to spending my evenings at the Gap, experimenting with the new summer trends.

I'll be brutally honest, though. About the hats, I mean.

(pause)

Actually, never mind.

I have to make a point, however, that this performance will in fact live up to it's program title for once, if only a tiny bit. It's true, my loving audience, sex will finally make its appearance.

I remember leaving off at the point in my and Bob's relationship where promises were essential to keep in order to keep it going. This was certainly a reasonable concept, but my father was by no means a reasonable character. I had never experimented so far as to set off an genuine argument with the man, but my options were lacking and he was due home in three days from Rome.

I spent those three days eating corn chips and sweating through entire drawers of clothing.

Around the time the bomb was set to arrive, I vividly remember pacing back and forth in front of our large black Kenmore refrigerator muttering, "Who's the man, who's the man, who's the man…" Certainly not me. The family cat, Oscar, sat on the counter watching me the entire time, and I knew he agreed. Good old cat; we lost him a few months later to a UPS truck delivering two foot long gardening sheers to our hired Mexican gardener, Eduardo. I have no doubt he planned it all along, that wily sonofabitch.

For all it's worth, the cat might have even done himself in on his own after witnessing the hell that broke loose in the dining room that night. I'm certain that four legged domestic mammals aren't built to handle intense madness and loud roaring after long periods of tranquility.

"Uhm, dad?"

Grunt.

"Have you ever had a sense of not belonging?"

"The hell are you talking about?"

A poor start should have set off the blinker signals.

"Ah, well, with the general flow of the crowd, I guess I mean." I noted that the brussel sprouts on my plate looked like kelp.

"Be specific and eat the sprouts." The man was blunter than a rubber saw.

"Okay, but see, I think I've decided what I'd like to do after school ends."

"About time. All I hear from Becky (our maid) is that you come home from school and lock yourself in that chaotic room of yours. Football, I hope. I played quarterback in football at your age you know. Star player. So. What position?"

Oh boy, oh boy. See, here's the problem with speaking with a man like my father. To be able to lead a proper conversation with such an individual you are required to own several vehicles and your own corporation. I would need to discover cures for several types of cancer for him to just look at me, which he certainly wasn't doing now. He was a cruel businessman at heart, working only with the elite, something he had been doing for the latter three-quarters of his life. The first quarter did not exist because it had long since been erased from his memory. I wasn't sure where I fit in amidst this. I was probably just a midlife crisis he had taken therapy to cope with.

"I meant after high school."

"Oh. When you go to college for law, you mean." There seemed to be no room for dispute around this statement, but at least I tried.

"Yeah, but I changed my mind about that, I think." Goatshite. He had firmly planted that idea in his head on his own on the day of my very birth.

"Fall back plans are good to have around." It was hopeless to think he would catch on.

"Uh no. I meant instead of law."

Silence.

"You know." But, of course, he didn't.

"Sort of like.. cartooning?"

I tell you, I should have spent my valuable three days in advance running around purchasing body cushioning instead of loading basketfuls of sweaty laundry into the washing machine. It must have been like experiencing a hurricane, although I wouldn't know, I live in New York; that few seconds of intense, hair-raising silence, and then WHAM, a wave that could have knocked a fully grown male beluga whale unconscious.

I went to bed that night on a wooden bench in my backyard. I was no longer sweaty, but extremely clammy and shivering despite an intense heat wave that kept the temperature in the eighties well into the night.

I assume from your stunned expressions that this could be considered child abuse on many fronts, but I'll assure this night did not turn into a model of the rest of my summer, and my father had cooled off significantly by the next morning. So much, in fact, that he seemed to have convinced himself that we had not spoken at all over dinner, as that was closer to the norm anyway, and asked me pleasantly if I wanted thirty dollars to go see a movie with my friends.

Well, I was glad that I could at least tell Bob I tried. My dad was going to leave for Switzerland in three weeks, coincidentally on the deadline date for most college applications.

After accepting his bride money, I headed up to my room and found a two and a half foot tall pile of reading material concerning every city, state, and private college offering law in the East Coast. On each shiny cover, I noticed an equal mix of male and female law students, some laughing their heads off for some reason or another, probably at a technical and opportune O.J. joke.

The next day, I had explained my predicament to my partner-in-obscene-crime. He managed some grim nodding, gulping down the details with his PB and J with no comment. He merely pointed at the bathroom and we headed there to do our dastardly business.

(scans crowd and notes an absence of Amish men) Yeah. We did it.