Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 65939 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65939 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
“In fact,” Mom continues, “it’s safe to say we met after he saved my ass—literally.”
Of course, she’d say that again. And he will say—
“And what an ass it was,” Dad replies as expected. “A m-ass-terpiece.”
I sigh. I know what’s coming next, and how futile it would be to try and stop them.
“Have you guys ever heard proctologist jokes?” Mom asks.
A grinning Ashton shakes his head, as does his sister.
“Well then,” my dad says. “I’ll rectify that situation right now.”
I groan, and Cameron rolls his eyes.
“Did you know that mine was the first profession to go digital?” Dad asks.
Ashton and his sister chuckle politely.
“Tell them what you’d say to a pirate, if you met one,” Mom urges.
“Show me your booty,” Dad says.
That one is new, but that doesn’t make it good.
“Now tell them the difference between an accountant and a proctologist,” Mom suggests.
Dad grins devilishly. “An accountant stares at spreadsheets while I stare at spread cheeks.”
Cameron slowly shakes his head, and I don’t get why he doesn’t play the birthday card to put an end to this.
“You know what they call a sarcastic proctologist?” Mom asks.
“A smart-ass doctor,” Dad replies.
Looking uncomfortable, Jordan and Ashton chuckle again. I bet they’re wondering how many more of these there are—and the answer is: an infinite amount.
“How is a chiropractor different from a proctologist?” Mom asks.
“You go to the first to crack your finger,” Dad says with a snort. “And the other if you need your crack fingered.”
I blow out a breath.
Unperturbed, Mom tells them what Dad says when he walks into a bar: “Is this stool taken?” She then asks what his favorite medicine and food are, but to my huge relief, that is when our orders arrive and interrupt the answer, which happens to be ass-pirin and poo-nut butt-er, respectively.
When the waiters leave, I glance at Cameron’s plate, which seems to be where the odd smell is coming from.
“Yeah, I know,” my brother says. “The one problem with this dish is the ammonia smell.” He puts a piece of fermented shark into his mouth and chews with clear relish. “The taste is worth it, I promise you.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” I say and sample my own dish.
Interesting. It’s rich, meaty, and nutty, with an earthy aftertaste. Reminiscent of liver pâté and meatloaf.
Ashton crunches into his taco and seems to enjoy it. Mom and Dad sing praises to their choices as well, and even Jordan seems to like her dish.
As much as it pains me to admit it—and despite the idea being completely out of the question—maybe she and Cameron would make a suitable match after all. In a parallel universe. Where she definitely isn’t Ashton’s sister.
“Back to jokes?” Mom suggests when the edge of everyone’s hunger is blunted.
“Sorry, no,” Cameron says. “I need to discuss some business with Ashton and Jordan.”
“Boo,” Mom says. “Work and birthdays don’t mix.”
“Yeah,” Dad says. “You don’t see me asking anyone to take off their pants.”
Cameron frowns. “I thought everyone promised not to call me a workaholic today, of all days.”
“Sorry,” Mom and Dad say in unison.
“I want to go choose a dessert,” Mom says. “They have a big display case of them.”
“Great idea,” Dad says. “I’ll join you.”
With that, they leave, which seems to be all the invitation Ashton needs to start talking about his app. Soon, he, Jordan, and Cameron seem to be speaking a foreign language, throwing out terms like “real-time suggesting,” “natural-language processing,” and “food-pairing algorithms.”
“It sounds like you can really help us,” Jordan finally says just as Mom and Dad return.
Cameron nods. “Sounds like it. Give me your email, and I’ll have my assistant set up a meeting so we can discuss this in greater detail.”
“Dessert picked,” Mom announces as Jordan gives Cameron her card. “I’m going to order the one that looks like a little purse.”
“And I’m getting the one that looks like a burger,” Dad says. Looking at his half-eaten black pudding, he adds, “I’m actually craving a burger now.”
“Did you like your dish?” Cameron asks Jordan.
“Yeah,” she says. “But it makes me wonder—who first thought of fermenting these birds? And why?”
That’s what she wonders? I’m curious as to who thought of stuffing them into the skin of a seal, and what did that seal do to deserve it? Not hold a ball on his nose long enough?
“Forget birds,” Ashton says. “How did someone come up with alcohol?”
Jordan grins. “Someone went, ‘Here are some grapes. Let’s have them spoil and drink that. Maybe something good will happen.’”
“Cheese is weird too,” Cameron chimes in. “Here’s some curdled milk. Tastes awful. Let’s wait longer and see what happens.”
“In general, I think whoever came up with the idea of drinking milk must’ve been a pervert,” Dad says. “I mean, we take it for granted now, but someone had at some point looked at a cow and thought: ‘I want to suck on those teats.’”