“She’s a sweet girl. Volunteers at the school—” “They’re all sweet girls.” “Well, you never marry any of them.” “Maybe I just don’t want to marry right now.” “You’re a man. Men don’t know what they want until it slaps them in their face.” “So wait until it slaps me, Mom.” “I’m the one doing the slapping here,” she says, trying on her “tough” voice, which is about as tough as Tweety Bird. I try not to laugh, knowing it will make this process take longer and I don’t want to somehow let it drag so long that I end up suckered into going. “I don’t want to go on a blind date.” “I just don’t know why
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