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His Name Was Robert Paulson…

Actually, his name wasn’t Robert Paulson, and I’m not talking about Fight Club either. (That’s against the rules anyway.) His first name was Robert though, but we all called him Bobby.

Fight Club (novel)
Fight Club (novel) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I’ve talked a few times about some of my experiences while I lived in Texas. Here is another one.

At work I had become friends with one of the Project Managers. His name was Bobby. In the office there were only a few of us that smoked. He was one of them. A door to his office was across the door into my office. This wasn’t his main door, but it was A door. A table, big enough to fit a full size set of architecturals, was positioned in front of this door. Two times a day I would witness this door opening, and Bobby crawling under the table. He would always invite me to come smoke with him. Smokers like to have company.

This went on for a few weeks, until. Bobby asked me if I liked bourbon. I didn’t really drink bourbon that much, I had preferred blended whiskeys, like Crown Royal and Canadian Mist. (Reason #45 why I would’ve rather been a Canadian.) I told him that it wasn’t my favorite, but I’m sure I could handle it. He then invited me over for dinner for the upcoming Friday. He was the first person to do this. I gladly accepted and waited for the weekend.

That Friday I followed him over to his house and I was introduced to his gorgeous wife, and 4 or 5 boys. (I’m sorry, I can’t remember the head count.) His wife had a son from a previous marriage, he was about 12 or 13, at the time. Together they had at least 3, but maybe 4 little boys, ranging in age from 5 to baby. The oldest little one was named John. He and I were buddies. He often told me that I looked like Wolverine. That’s how cool this kid was.

Wolverine: Snikt!
Wolverine: Snikt! (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Dinner was prepared on the grill. We had….um….really good food. I really don’t remember that either, sorry. All I do remember were the countless refills of bourbon and coke. These refills would even come from the older boy sometimes. He could mix a mean drink. (I do not endorse underage peoples mixing drinks.) After dinner was over we sat outside chatting, smoking, and drinking with Eddie Money blaring on the stereo.

The Essential Eddie Money
The Essential Eddie Money (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Around ten o’clock I decided that it wouldn’t be a good idea for me to drive home. I had decided this because his wife said so. They had a spare room and “would be more than happy if I used it”. When it got closer to bed time Bobby decided to show me around the house. Sort of backwards, but it worked for me. He showed me the kids rooms and then we headed into his bedroom. At the foot of his bed was a large love seat that was directed towards a very large television. He told me to kick my shoes off and have a seat. We watched TV for a few minutes then he got up to show me the spare room.

In the spare room he showed me the bed and the little TV and then left. I was a little confused, but went with it. It was late and I was tired anyway. I plopped down and went right to sleep. (This is called passing out, if you drink as much as we did that night.) I think I slept alright. I don’t remember the kids waking me up or anything. When I did wake up I headed downstairs and went directly outside for a smoke. I was about three smokes in when Bobby joined me. He told me that breakfast would be ready shortly and then started with the regular chit-chat.

He asked if I slept well and if I needed anything. I answered accordingly. The next question caught me off guard. He said that he had noticed that my shoes were in his bedroom. I said yeah. He then looked at me and said, “we didn’t…you know…do anything last night, did we?” What!?! “No, you told me to take them off when you were showing me the house.” “Okay. That’s what I thought. I just wanted to make sure.” I could tell he was joking. Then, breakfast was served.

All of this happened about eight years ago. Bobby and his family moved away a couple of months after that. I only got to have bourbon with him one more time, and it wasn’t quite as good as the first. I’m sure all of those boys will have all sorts of stories to tell when they grow up. (And become fantastic bloggers, like me.) I could tell he was a good dad, and especially funny.

Oh, look at that. How convenient. This would be a good time to remind you all of Funny Dad Friday. After this I’m going to go put the finishing touches on my FDF post, for tomorrow. By finishing touches I mean, OH MY I better start writing that thing. Hope to see you all there.

8 thoughts on “His Name Was Robert Paulson…

    1. He was. It was nice to have some help. Not sure about martinis though. I don’t think I was smart enough to make one of those, still not. Dads way of doing it is waving the vermouth in front of the glass. I guess that’s extra dry. I’m looking forward to it too. I just finished. Kind of nervous. If it’s not good I’ll just blame it on him. Ha.

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