In the Pink(4)

2016-05-16 |

　　"Just browsing," I whispered.

　　He looked at me strangely and I realized I was holding a pair of extra large women's shorts and an athletic bra. Behind me I hear, "Look. The final touch."

　　I got down on all fours and struck my head out. My youngest son was holding up a hat that said "Tee-riffic Golfer" in type large enough to see four blocks away.

　　"But it's red," my younger son said. "Does that matter?"

　　"Naw," said my daughter. ."Golfers always dress weird."

　　I watched them walk toward the front, then I turned and looked at the manager. "I don't suppose…?"

　　"Nope. All sales final. Besides, you'd break their hearts."

　　I slept in on Sunday. At about nine they marched into the room, placed a package on my chest and said, "Happy Father's Day."

　　I tore the wrapping slowly, hoping I could muster up enough excitement when I held up that hat. But the package contained only a note.

　　"Look beside you," it said.

　　I turned slowly and there on the pillow was one of my favorite putters from the golf store.

　　"I don't understand," I said.

　　"Dude," said my older son. "We, like, knew you were there. Your car was parked out front."

　　"Are you disappointed?" my daughter asked.

　　"No! This is perfect." I stroked my new putter lovingly. "So," I laughed. "Guess they let you take those dreadful pink pants back, huh?"