“Give me my hairbrush, Juanita!” Erika yelled.
“I don’t have your hairbrush,” Juanita replied in an irritated voice.
“Liar,” Erika replied. “I’m going to tell Senor Leo when he wakes up.”
Truth was, I was already awake. I’d been resting peacefully during my afternoon siesta before the shouting began. I’d been dreaming. In the dream I was the All-Star second baseman for the Atlanta Braves. We were in the seventh game of the World Series with the hated New York Yankees. And we were losing three to two in the bottom of the ninth inning. There was a man on second and third with two outs. I stood at the plate. Three balls and two strikes. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed the right fielder move ten or so feet toward the right field line I had a pretty good idea what the Yankees ace reliever was going to throw me. A slider on the right corner of the plate. If I timed it just right, I could drill the pitch into the right center field gap.
In my mind’s eye I could see my fellow Braves mobbing me. Television reporters begging me for an interview. Even sharing a Cadillac convertible with the Braves manager as we passed down Peachtree Street—confetti swirling in the air above us. Fans lining the street yelling my name. My bat was cocked as the pitcher released the ball … That’s when the argument in the living room began.
At first it annoyed me to be woken from the dream. I was about to drive in the winning runs for the World Series Champs—the Atlanta Braves. I almost yelled at them to hush. That’s when I remembered what had happened yesterday.
I was in the bathroom shaving when my razor became clogged with hair. Long black hairs that had fallen from the girl’s heads as they brushed their hair over the sink. The house we live in now has only one bathroom. “How many times do I have to tell you girls not to brush your hair over the sink?” I growled.
Senora Luci was washing dishes in the kitchen. She let out a loud sigh. Her sandals made a flop-flop-flopping sound as she came to the bathroom door. “I know the girls get on your nerves sometimes,” she said in a calm voice. Then she added, “Especially someone your age, Senor Leo.” ‘OUCH!” “But it won’t be long before these girls will be heading for college.”
She didn’t say it. But I could sense what she really wanted to say, “Then who are you going to complain about?”
“Just wait until Senor Leo wakes us,” Erika said, interrupting my reverie.
A smile creased my lips as I thought about the pleasure I receive from living in a house with all these females over the years. I made a mental note not to complain about long hairs in the sink; having to wait until the girls finish primping in the bath room; and the little inconveniences that living in a house with four females brings (five if you count fifteen month old Ja Di).
Closing my eyes, I mumbled “You’re a lucky man, Leo.” Even though you were about to knock in the winning runs in the World Series.