“C’mon, Mom, we’re up,” he said.
Up for what? No idea. We were crowded into a hot, airless fraternity basement along with two dozen other college kids and their misplaced parents.
I shivered at the possibilities.
My son guided me to one end of a ping-pong table. I saw plastic cups half-filled with cheap beer. An odd choice since he knew I was a Cabernet kind of girl.
Then I saw our opponents: his buddy, Pat, and Pat’s father with his silver hair and his ring finger tan line.
My kid’s plan had just become painfully obvious.
“Subtle,” I whispered.
The Weekday One Hundred 