Page 67 of Misadventures of a Biker

Herb took his seat. “Don’t sound like much of a diet to me.”

“I don’t know how she stays so small,” I said. “You ought to see her eat.”

Herb nodded toward the platter of meat. “This stuff’s going to get cold if we don’t get busy. Get the woman a steak, would ya?”

“I’ll get it started.” Teddi reached for the serving fork. “Which one do you want, Herb?”

“The big one on your right,” he replied. “The one dipshit’s eyeing.”

Laughing, she lifted the steak from the platter and dropped it onto Herb’s plate. “Here you go.”

Herb looked at me and grinned. “I saw you eyeballing that thing. Tough luck, asshole.”

“Go to hell, old man.”

“Lead the way,” he said with a laugh.

Teddi’s eyes darted back and forth between us. “Are you guys always like this?”

Herb slopped a huge dollop of mashed potatoes on top of his steak. “Like what?”

“Arguing.”

Herb chuckled. “This is nothing. When he opines about politics, police, or pussy, we really get going.”

Thirty years of cussing in the army was difficult to erase, but we’d discussed being civil during Teddi’s debut at Sunday dinner. It was apparent he either didn’t care or he’d forgotten our agreement.

“Damn it, Herb,” I snapped. “We talked about this. I thought we weren’t going to cuss?”

He spooned corn onto his plate like it was his last meal. “Who’s cussing?”

“You said pussy.”

“Pussy’s a body part. It’s not a cuss word,” he replied without looking up.

“The hell it’s not.”

He arched a wiry brow. “What else am I going to call it?”

“Hoo-hah,” Teddi said.

Herb seemed confused. “Who what?”

“Hah,” Teddi said. “A hoo-hah.”

Herb looked at me. “Do people call them that?”

I shrugged. “I guess.”

“Or a cooch,” Teddi said. “You could call it that. Or a muff.”

“I’ve heard that one,” Herb said. “On the HBO.”

“HBO,” I said. “Not the HBO. You sound like an imbecile.”

He shot me a glare. “Better than looking like a living, breathing dog turd.”

“You guys are funny,” Teddi said, giving each of us a quick look. “This is fun.”