Overthrow

"What are you going to bring me as a souvenir?" I demanded.

"What would you like?" asked my mother. She'd just finished describing her upcoming trip, a jaunt through Czechoslovakia, Hungary, and Austria.

"A Gypsy," I said. "And some Vienna sausages."

She blinked several times without speaking.

"I could have asked for a bounced Czech," I offered.

My mother turned to the Lovely Bride and said, "He's in fine form."

"It's better than yesterday," said the Lovely Bride.

"Oh Lord, what did he do?" asked my mother.

Saturday wasn't that bad. We were at the baseball game, watching my youngest play shortstop, when he threw a ball over the third baseman's head.

"Aargh!" I choked out, pounding my leg.

"He's doing his best," the Lovely Bride said.

"I'm doing my best not to scream."

"Leave him alone."

"He's on an all star team. He can play better than that."

"Stop it."

I turned to a couple of dads sitting nearby. "If women ruled the world, we'd all feel good about being failures."

Silence, amplified by the look I was getting from the Lovely Bride and several other women.

"I think I'm going to stay out of this one," said one father.

"Me too," said another.

"Thanks," I told them.

My mother took a moment to digest the story. "Did he really say that?" she finally asked.

"Yes he did," the Lovely Bride told her.

"I certainly hope you set him straight."

"Yes I did," said the Lovely Bride.

"Thank you," said my mother. "I obviously failed at raising him and I don't feel good at all about that."

"You did your best," said the Lovely Bride.

"Yes I did," said my mother.