Once a week, at least, we got together, and went to eat somewhere. That night, the girls wanted seafood, so we went to that restaurant on the pier. You can’t get seafood much fresher than that.
As always, one of the girls said, “Pit stop.” And they both headed to the restroom. Bob and I sat at the table, looking at the ocean of shrimp shells collected in the bucket in its middle.
“Why do they always go together?”
I’m sure Bob saw my look of terror, “Don’t ever ask them that!” It was a mistake I’d made. I’d asked Ginny, and she’d let me have it big time.
“But, they do everything together. Haven’t you noticed?”
“Yeah, I’ve noticed.” My brain was desperately trying to come up with a way to explain to Bob why they did everything together. “Well.” I looked in the direction they’d headed, “Did you watch them walk off?”
“Do you think other guys watched them?”
“Yeah. You know. Like…” I changed topic, and pointed at one of the waitresses, “Damn. Check out the buns on her.”
“What you just did?” I nodded, “is why they do everything together.”
He looked confused.
“Bob. They get looked at by every guy. All the guys. Every day. Forever.”
I saw the cartoon light bulb over his head light up, “Woah.”
“Yeah, Bob. There’s safety in numbers.”
Neither of us said another word until the girls got back.