DOC: You look tan.
DOC: Okay; I’m lying. But I do know that you went to St. George last weekend so I thought I’d PRETEND like you got a tan there, too.
LRE: You’re really funny, doc. Really.
DOC: Don’t patronize.
LRE: Don’t make fun.
DOC: Good to see we’re starting on such a positive note.
LRE: You’re in charge of this therapy session, mister.
DOC: Darn right I am. Let’s talk about your dad today then.
DOC: I have just one question to ask.
LRE: This will be short then.
DOC: Not likely; I know how you have a story for everything.
LRE: That’s just because conversation is more interesting that way.
DOC: It’s not a bad thing; it’s just a fact of Larrie’s life.
LRE: Fine; what’s your question?
DOC: What’s your favorite childhood memory of your dad?
LRE: That he called me BIRD BONES.
DOC: That’s your favorite?
LRE: Oh, by favorite do you mean what I liked most?
DOC: You don’t know the meaning of the word, favorite?
LRE: It’s a really difficult word to understand.
DOC: You’re not a very facetious person, are you?
DOC: Just try to be a little serious and answer the question correctly.
LRE: Am I being scored?
DOC: I can wait until you decide to answer.
LRE: Right. Then my vote goes to when my dad would read poetry to us before bed. My favorite poem was “The Duel.” I even quoted the first stanza when I tried out for Seven Brides for Seven Brothers in junior high: The gingham dog and the calico cat side by side on the table sat; was half past twelve and what do you think? Not one nor the other had slept a wink. The old Dutch clock and the Chinese plate appeared to know as sure as fate there was going to be a terrible spat. I wasn’t there; I simply state what was told to me by the Chinese plate. Etcetera.
DOC: I like it.
LRE: You should—it’s a good one. He read it out of the book, 101 Greatest Poems. Good book.
DOC: Thank you for giving a genuine answer.
LRE: Sure nuff… sometimes, I’m genuine. Just not usually on the ol’ blog.