“Just making sure you’re awake, honey. Now, about that beer.”

Carol opened the fridge, grabbed a bottle.

Our dad shook his head. “Irish I had a Schlitz,” he sang in his best baritone.

Carol put the craft beer bottle from the new local brewery back, handed over a tall can of Schlitz. She gave our father a chance to take a long sip, then slipped the newspaper in front of him. “You want to explain this?”

Our dad slapped his thigh. “Good one, if I do say so myself. Between you and me and the lamppost, you need some originality to stay in the game at my age. I’m no sidekick, but I can tell you the ladies will be falling all over themselves when they get a load of this one.”

I’d been listening to my father’s word choices my whole life, so it didn’t even take me that long to translate sidekick to psychic.

Carol gave me a look that clearly said jump in anytime.

“Sidekick or not,” I said, “that ad could be perceived as a little bit creepy.” I reached for more ammunition. “Plus, what if somebody takes you up on it? It’s not like we actually have a free mattress kicking around. We had everything we’re not planning to use hauled off to the Take It or Leave It at the dump.”

Our father took a slug of beer, put the can back down on the scarred pine tabletop.

“I’m no gobermouch,” he said, “so I don’t like to meddle in other people’s business. But once we get rid of the mattress she’s sleeping on, I think it would open up the door to Polly moving into the man cavern with me. You’d be surprised at how much room they give you on those round beds.”

I sat down at my regular seat at the table with a thud. “Dad, don’t even joke about that. You can’t take Polly’s mattress away from her. And she is not, I repeat not, moving in with you.”

Our dad ran one hand through his mane of white hair. “It’s the baby I’m thinking of. That baby needs a good Irish daddy to lay eyes on when it’s born. Somebody to help burp it and change its nappies.”

“Nappies?” Carol said. “Who the hell says nappies in this country? It’s not like you changed a single diaper when any of us were growing up. And the only time you helped us burp was when you let us take a sip of your beer when Mom wasn’t looking.”

Our Dad shook his head. “Don’t be a snoutband, honey. If I’m looking for someone to argue with me, I can spend the day on my laptopper cruisin’ the internut.”