You’ll be sorry for this. I promise you Maggie. 

Maybe, she said. But you need to meet people. Socialize. Converse. 

I thought that’s what suicide hotlines were for. 

You’re a hoot, Maggie said. A real yuk-yuk machine. Look, it’s only one dinner. Besides, Ernie’s nice. 

Ernie. I shuddered. Most people, I guess, think of Ernie and Bert. But I’m a big Who fan so I think of “Tommy” and his slimy, lecherous uncle, Ernie. 

I said to myself, I’ll do it for Maggie. But as soon as I can, I’m aborting this mission. Amscraying. Vamoosing. I’m drowning this kitten. 

That night, I met Ernie at L’Aubergine. We sat in a booth, I tore breadsticks apart. Made little animals, monkeys, giraffes. 

So, Ernie said. Maggie tells me you live with your parents. 

Yes, I replied. I take care of my folks. Feed ‘em sometimes. Hose down their cages. 

He let that pass. 

They’re elderly, I guess. 

Not really, I said. Fifty-eight. Fifty-nine. 

Ernie pretended to study the menu. I started humming an old Who song. I was building a Stonehenge with wrapped pats of butter when Ernie looked up and said, now I’m a farmer. 

I couldn’t believe it. Excuse me? I said. 

The song you’re humming. “Now I’m a Farmer”. The Who’s “Odds and Sods” album. Studio out takes, ‘74. 

Easy there, girl, I told myself. Could be a fluke. I decided to test him. 

“Pictures of Lily”. What album was it on. 

“Meaty Beaty Big and Bouncy.” 

“Live at Leeds”. Eddie Cochran song. 

Without missing a beat, he said “Summertime Blues.” 

I thought for a moment. Looked him square in the eye. 

What was the B-side of “I Can’t Explain.” 

Like a shot came the answer “Bald Headed Woman.” 

Maggie was right. He was a nice guy. And a real Who fan, I was totally smitten. 

Sadly though, there’s no second chance for a first impression. Ernie took me home, shook my hand at the door. About twenty minutes later, I heard the phone ring. 

Through her teeth, Maggie said, you were right. I am sorry. 

I told ya so, Mags. 

You’re an idiot, she said. 

I know, Maggie. I know.