“You know why I hadn’t hit your sisters?” I said to a friend of mine, while we were drinking a cold beer.
It was not too long ago, maybe two or three weeks. We were out of school for the day and I decided I needed a drink. So we went to a small bar just around the corner.
I was telling him that his sisters were fine girls, and how a nice wife they would be if they wanted to settle down anytime. As a matter of fact, of the three of them I recall telling them I’d choose the eldest one, because she was pretty and knew to cook, yet she was fiercely independent and intelligent. And, of course, she had one hell of a body, yet not in the way Douglas Adams would write about it.
“Now that you mention it”, he said, drinking, and then thinking for a while. “No. Why?”
I was busy drinking peanuts and chewing beer. Sort of. I took my time to answer. I didn’t knew how could I escape from a situation like that, when I was digging my own tomb in quicksand. I decided honesty would be the best policy anyway.
“Because I don’t want to be your brother-in-law, that’s why…”
He pondered it a little and then he let it sank in his mind; no doubt it wasn’t that easy, with the beer he had already drank.
“Now that you mention it,” he said, looking me directly to the eye, “I think I won’t like you as my brother-in-law, either.”
“Amen, brother, amen.” I said. Then we made a toast: “So our families never get united.”
See you later.
Dijo.
An atheist, a freethinker, an engineer, and a good man. He loves to write, but sucks at it. And, of course, English is not his mother tongue, but was learned as a second language.
