“What else?” I ask as I go around the counter and stand next to him as he writes furiously.
“Dude, this is going to be epic. I am such a fucking genius. You better name your first born after me or something,” he tells me as he continues making the list, quickly coming up with ten things that he swears will have Charlotte in love with me by the time I finish all of them. We work together, crossing things out and moving them around until we have a pretty good list of things for me to do to win Charlotte over.
I know I’m going to regret this. Somehow, some way, this is all going to come back and bite me in the ass, but I’m desperate. I know I’m a chickenshit and should just come right out and tell her, but that’s not happening. This needs to be handled delicately. Tyler is the only person who knows how I feel about Charlotte. If anyone finds out about this before I’m ready … Well, let’s just say having my mom tell my eighth grade English teacher at conferences that when I was little I used to walk around telling strangers my dad had a huge wiener will seem like the best day of my life.
Yep, totally going to regret this.
Charlotte graduated from college a few weeks ago. She had a few make-up classes to do during the summer session, but she’s finally finished. She majored in Communications at Ohio State University, my alma mater. Today, her parents are throwing her a small graduation party at their home, and I can’t deny the fact that I’m a little bit excited to get started on The List. After several six-packs of beer last night, this idea became more and more awesome. I mean seriously, what woman wouldn’t love it if a guy started doing a shit ton of awesome things to prove to her how much he cares? And these aren’t just everyday, common sense things like buying her flowers. These are the things women want men to do, but never come right out and ask for. I’m going to be a God among men when this is all said and done.
“Alright, bro. Are you ready for phase one? I mean, it will probably take a little while since it’s early in the day, but you got this,” Tyler reassures me as we get out of my car. I cock my head from side to side to crack my neck and shake out my hands.
“I can do this. I can TOTALLY do this. Phase one to commence by 9 pm,” I reply.
Tyler gives me a high five and we make our way around to the backyard of Aunt Liz and Uncle Jim’s house. My ears are immediately assaulted with the sounds of very bad, very off-pitch singing. Glancing under the tent they have set up, I see my Uncle Drew and Aunt Jenny doing karaoke. They’re singing Sonny and Cher’s “I Got You Babe,” but they’ve changed up the lyrics just a bit.
“I’VE GOT YOU, BITCH!”
“I’VE GOT YOU, ASS!”
In case you’ve never met my Uncle Drew and Aunt Jenny, let me just tell you that this is pretty typical behavior. To put it nicely, they are bat shit crazy. Not crazy like One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, crazy like … I don’t know, picture the most insane porno you’ve ever seen and then add in an episode from the Cooking Network with a couple of Oompa Loompas watching and you have a day in the life of Drew and Jenny Parritt. Uncle Drew is completely inappropriate one hundred percent of the time, and Aunt Jenny is a few fries short of a Happy Meal.
There’s an awful, screeching feedback from the speakers as they stand facing one another, screaming into the microphones, and I wince as my mom greets me with a kiss on the cheek.
“Save me. Please, with all that is holy, save me. Get up there and sing something in tune.” Her face is contorted in pain as Aunt Jenny continues to screech.
I used to sing in a band in high school. I’m not going to brag or anything, but I was pretty good. The band, not so much. I only joined the band to impress Charlotte because she made a comment once about how guys in a band are “so hot.” Our one and only gig, was at Keystone Point Senior Center’s annual Christmas party—I know, contain your excitement—and after we finished our set that consisted of a death metal version of “Silent Night” and a moving rendition of “Head Like a Hole” from Nine Inch Nails, I realized quickly that the whole band thing worked. Just not for me. Charlotte came running up on stage, flew right past me, and into the arms of the base player. It turns out guys that are in a band who play the guitar are “so hot.” And that was our only gig because we were asked not so nicely to never play in public ever again.
Standing in the middle of the stage clutching my microphone, I tried not to throw it right at DJ’s head as he lifted Charlotte up in the air and she wrapped her legs around his waist.
“You looked so hot playing that guitar!” Charlotte gushed as she peppered DJ’s cheeks with kisses.