Who’s your Daddy!!

Chaz’s point of view –“The Drooling Moose” in Plymouth is the setting for the next slice from our history. Well, it is not really “The Drooling Moose”. I think the real name is the Lower Town Grille, but we call it “The Drooling Moose”. This is due to the Huge Moose head that is hanging on the wall. Now a lot of bars have one of these, but this one actually moves. It nods up and down, plus it has a lot of stuff hanging it from it. Stuff like a Gumby doll, Mardi gras beads, a plastic Irish hat. It is a lot cooler than it sounds as all the walls are covered in “stuff” like that. Part of the charm is that by time you have looked at all the walls, you have drunk enough that you have forgotten what you first looked at, so you get to start all over.

Besides the Moose head, I like the rather large Pike they have on the wall. Not only is it a pretty fish, but the kewpie doll stuffed in its mouth adds just the right touch of class. By the way, the only reason I remember the pike is Donna and I stopped in there recently.

One night, we (Shaun/Chris and I) ended up there. Not sure were Donna was, but seem to recall she was out of town. There was a decent blues band playing. The bar was crowded. I decide to try a new type of vodka, called Zodiac. I order all of us a shot and it was pretty good. What I really liked was it came in a cool bottle. It had the various zodiac signs on it and the back had “Cancer” with a decent saying. As I said, I liked it and I thought Donna would too, so I decided to buy it for her. Well, the bottle was still half full and the waitress said it had to be emptied before she could give it to us.

Anyways, I am DD, so I am not drinking…much. This is rather unfortunate for Chris and Shaun as I decide that they need to finish the bottle, so I can take it home. At the time, I am sure they thought it was great idea. It was the next morning that made them regret their decision. Just like in the Western movies, I told the waitress to “leave the bottle”. It was actually fun saying that!

We three are sitting there. I am sure we were having deep conversations about world politics (Breasts) or physics (Butts) or sports (legs). I kept Chris’s and Shaun’s shot glasses filled with vodka, plus they were drinking beer. Every now and then, I would do a toast and make them do a shot of vodka, while I did a shot of beer. I was DD, remember. As the night went on, the conversation became deeper as the vodka became less.

I need to explain a few things for those that might not know us. First there is a picture of us under the story, The Beginning of “We”. Now Chris and I are in our mid thirty’s and Shaun is in his forty’s. However, Shaun does appear a lot younger and is quite proud of the fact. Actually, Chris and Shaun both appear to be young and both get carded a lot. I, on the other hand, appear older than I am. While I would like to think it has to do with my maturity and wisdom, it probably has to do with my grey hair that my lovely wife has given me, but I digress. Also, Shaun is the only one that is single. Chris and I are both married. No, not to each other, we do have wives. Anyways, most of the vodka was gone; the night was getting late; and Shaun was lamenting about how he could not get a date.

Sheep, yes! Dates, no! {I will explain this comment in another story}

While Shaun was whining, a vision of beauty came sauntering up to our table. Lo and behold, she was 5’ 5” with long red hair, green eyes, creamy white skin, and ruby red lips. Oh, sorry, fantasy slipped into reality there for a moment. She was actually a very pretty lady and about 5’ 5”, but she had short brown hair and that’s about all I remember of her features, except she had a pretty smile. Her name was Jean (Note: names changed to protect those that can’t remember) and she was a school teacher for the Plymouth Canton school district.

Jean talked for a few moments about the band. I responded as I had seen them one before. She then started talking about how she loved to dance and that this particular song was a good one to dance too. I just agree, thinking that Shaun is a dweeb for not asking her to dance. Finally her hints become so obvious that Shaun realizes, “Hey, I might get close to the female sex”. Shaun looks at her, takes a drink of liquid courage, and asks her if she would like to dance. Jean looks over at him; scans him up and down; says “No, I don’t want to dance with you. I want to dance with your son”; and points at me.

The local richter scales registered a 1.3 as Shaun jaw hit the floor. Chris snorted his vodka. My chest swelled with justified ego! I looked at Jean and replied that, while I was pleased by her request, I only danced with my wife. While this is not technically true, I didn’t want to tell her the truth. The truth was I was no where close to drunk enough to dance, which is the only way this dwarf dances.

After Jean had left, I turned to Shaun and said “Daddy”! Shaun was so pleased with this that he indicated I was his number one child by waving one finger at me. Chris began figuring out how old Shaun must look to be my dad, but kept running out of fingers. I would let him take his shoes off to help. I decided it was time to take my “daddy” home, so I grabbed the well earned vodka bottle and herded Shaun/Chris to the car.

Now, just to be fair, I told Shaun I was writing this and gave him the basic rundown of what I was going to say. About half way through the story, Shaun stopped and insisted that she was referrnig to Chris as the son, not me . In my opinion, this is just Shaun ‘s way of trying to make the trauma less painful. One day, I am sure that therapy will help him accept the truth, not matter how painful it may be.