Guess Who's Coming to My Valentine Dinner?

                                                                                                                               KARL WALLACE     

                             Guess Who's Coming to My valentine Dinner?

          When I was single, foot loose, and fancy free in the good old days of 1979, I owned a condominium in South Ogden, Utah, called the "Ironwood Condominiums." It had everything under the sun you could imagine, a wet bar, home theater, seamless thick carpet wall to wall dyed at the factory, carpeting in the garage, solid oak doors, a safe behind a picture etc. It was all there, all of it designed, and built by Eddie O’Brian, owner of Crown Water Beds located in Riverdale and Salt Lake City. I bought the layout from Eddie a year after he got married.

     I made plans for a quiet fun filled Christmas Day in a private atmosphere. I placed a bottle of red wine, chocolates, flowers, and streamers on a floating table in the 800 gallon hot tub, turned on the stereo music.  Everything was ready.

     A full three weeks before, I had a bright idea. I would buy a blow-up doll, a gift for Jan. I subsequently went down to Mr. B's the Adult book store on 702 Wall Avenue around midnight. I was afraid someone might recognize my car so I parked it a half block down the street. Weber County is so small everyone knows what everyone else is doing. Coming out of the dark shadows, I opened the door and walked in. I wore a heavy coat with the collar up and a hat covering half my face. As I stepped in, a bell rang, I turned my back toward Mr. Bramwell, the owner, who was standing behind the check-out counter. I began looking at the magazines. He asked me if he could be of help.

     I answered with what I thought would be a normal question, “Do you have any Playboy calendars?”

     He said, "No, you can only buy their calendars from the Playboy Company. They are not sold anywhere else."

      I then asked him for what I had come in for in the first place, “Do you have any blow-up dolls?”

     He pointed me in the general direction of the back room which was full of all kinds of stuff, quite an education if you haven’t been in an adult book store. After browsing around for a full half hour, I stumbled on to an inflatable Santa Claus about normal size that I could substitute as a passenger in my car when driving in the car pool lane. It was a blow up doll that looked human if you use a huge heap of your imagination. I paid 34.95 which included a "G" string.

     Christmas Day morning, I used the air compressor to fill the doll with air and at the same time I named him "Jack." Jack came to life with a pliant body, muscular legs, big chest muscles, no clothes except a Valentine hat. I stood him against the fire place, and sat back to relax.

      But, lo' and behold, my mother and dad showed up. Jack was standing in plain sight of the entry way.  Dad noticed Jack the moment he stepped in the door.

     “What the Hell is that?” he demanded.                     

     I quickly tried to explain, “It’s a doll.” But my humor doesn’t coincide with my dad’s.                  

    "Who would play with something like that?” I had several candidates in mind, but kept my mouth shut.

     “Where are his clothes?”

     “Boy, that turkey sure smells nice, Dad,” I said, trying to steer him into the kitchen dining room. But Dad was relentless.

      “Why doesn’t he have any teeth?” Again, I could have answered, but it was Christmas Day and I didn't want to shock him by saying what I was thinking, then maybe have to be kneeling over him saying, “Hang on, Dad, the ambulance is on its way, Hang on!”

     My mother, age has laid its hand, wanes feebly with poor eyesight, sidled up to me and asked, "Who’s the naked man by the fireplace?”

    I said, “Its Jan’s friend.”

     A few minutes later I noticed Mom by the mantle talking to Jack. Not just talking, but actually flirting. It was then that I realized this might be Mom’s last Christmas at my place.

     Just then, Jan stepped in the door, saving the day. Lunch went well. We made the usual small talk about who had died, who was dying and who should be killed, when suddenly Jack made a bang that sounded a like a cannon. He lurched from the G string, then he flew, smoking around the living room three times to the right and fell in a heap on the front room French Imported Gaeta couch, dead.

     Jan screamed. I passed chocolate sauce through my nose, and Mom ran across the room, fell to her knees with a heavy heart and crying eyes, and began administering mouth-to-mouth. Dad threw down his napkin, stomped out of the house, sat in his car and intermittently honked the horn for mom to leave.

     It was indeed a day to remember. Later, in the garage, Jan and I conducted an examination to find the cause of Jacks collapse. We discovered that Jack had suffered from a hot ember to his left buttocks. We restored him to health using duct tape.

     Jack went on to star in several Tupperware parties, and Mom often calls me about Jack.

Ten months after the occurrence related above, Match.com, a social media website, was asking people to vote on their web site as to whether they thought Mom and Jack should get back together, and if you can believe it, they were also selling bumper stickers that said Santa and Mom Are MAD 4 U.

     To read more short stories go to:                      Karlwallaceblog.blogspot.com