Finders Keepers

"Statistically speaking," say's Beamer, "Rob isn't the guy for you."

"He's not?" I roll my eyes and settle the phone in the crook of my neck.

"No, he's the first guy you've dated since your divorce. He's transitional, not a keeper."

"Not true," I sigh, "I went on the date from Hell with Brat's co-worker. He wanted to take me to Hawaii and drive around the island in a vintage convertible."

"Well that sounds interesting, but ..."

My sister is an over-thinker. I cut her off, "you've no idea. We went skiing and I lost him on the slope."

"On purpose?"

"No, I'm not that brave. I looked for him, but I didn't find him until the ski area closed."

"That's good."

Uhuh. "Then we had dinner, discussed his biological time clock and I fled. Well, not exactly, but I ducked the follow up phone calls."

"One date does not count." She clears her throat. "According to statistics..."

"Wait," I reach for a legal pad and start to doodle, "don't forget the Pillsbury dough boy. We dated a few times. Oh and Mr Clean asked me out."

"Mr Clean?"

"Yeah, the original Mr Clean, the one from the bottle of cleanser." She laughs. "I'm serious, I said no, cause he's quite a bit older, but he wanted to take me to the movies. Some film about cats and dogs."

"The Original Mr Clean?" She echoes.

"Yep, that's what he told me."

"Still," she sighs, "you shouldn't live together. If the milk is free, he won't buy the cow."

"Okie dokie," I say, "Gotta go, Rob's home and Mom and Dad just walked in."

Two seconds after we're seated, Mom points a finger at Rob. "So," she says, "How long is my daughter going to be a concubine?"

Dad's brows shoot up.

I squeak.

Rob doesn't miss a beat. "Sounds like fun," he grins, "I'll be one too."

Mom snorts and brandishes her middle finger.

Dad catches my eye and winks.

I'm keeping this one.