Did you ever play the telephone game when you were a kid? Remember it? It’s when one person tells the person next to her something, and that person passes the message on to the next person, and by the time the message gets passed all the way around the group, it’s nothing like what the first person said. Fun, fun, fun.
My family inadvertently played the telephone last weekend. Friday night was spent tripping down memory lane with the Big Irishman, hubby, light of my life, ball and chain, and his sandbox buddy, Brian, aka Fester. Don’t ask, the nickname dates back to their childhood.
The Big Irishman and Fester, guffawed long and hard about the good old days. After a night of drinking and stinking they’d stop at White Castle and pick up bags of burgers, devour them and leave the wrappers like so much bread crumbs in their destructive wake.
“Remember White Castle?”
“Oh yeah White Castle, never forget them!”
“Yeah, they were shaped like a square.”
“And you threw the wrappers out the window when you were done!”
Fester’s wife, Rose and I indulged them. You know how it is when two old friends reminisce about the good old days and you’re stuck politely smiling because you weren’t there. Plus, it was a miracle that the delinquents arrived home alive, back in the day.
But there’s nothing like the morning light to bring home the message that you just can’t start with cocktails, follow with red wine and end with Sambuca, and then have to get up for your 13 year old’s football practice. The Big Irishman came flying into the bathroom where I was getting dressed, laughing so hard that I could barely understand him. He said that Bobby just approached him with much concern and trepidation. Here’s how he relayed the story.
“Ugh Dad, can I ask you something?” Apparently Bobby’s face had that you’re busted look on it. I know something BIG kind of look and you’re going to fess up.
“Sure Bobby, what’s up?”
“Well, last night, I was in the basement and you all were so loud. I heard you and Mr. Gallagher laughing and banging your hands on the table and…”
“Bobby we were having a good time reminiscing when we were kids. What do you want to ask me?”
“Er, are Castle Wrappers condoms?”
How the Big Irishman managed to keep it together and not completely bust a gut is beyond me. I was initially appalled. In fact I was hyper ventilating, after hearing condoms in the same sentence with my 13 year old’s name. Fortunately the Big Irishman reeled me in. Castle…oh White Castle…. Wrappers.. oh well you know where that’s going. I hit the floor, wishing I could stuff a little square burger in my mouth to stifle my uncontrollable laughter.
Here’s what the good father said.
“No Bobby, White Castle was a popular hamburger place when I was a teenager. Mr. Gallagher and I would stop on our way home. Mr. Gallagher was a knucklehead and threw the wrappers out the window and I’d see the trail he left behind the next day on my way to caddy at the golf club. Castle Wrappers are not condoms.”
Got to love the telephone game.